


The Oedran Llawn Cycle

by Davechicken



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 60,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Arthur grows restless in Camelot, eager to make a name for himself. In order to strengthen ties with neighbouring kingdoms, to seek new knights and a potential future Queen, he, Merlin, Sir Kay and Sir Oswald ride out of Camelot. The adventure they embark on takes them more into magic than Uther might have planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oedran Llawn Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> The title is Welsh, and is meant to imply a 'coming of age'. This was written many years ago but I never got around to archiving it, so the knights I use are more or less OCs or based from some study of Arthurian legends. I also haven't had it beta read so please, any errors, mea culpa.

It was a crisp, clear morning. The sky was blue and powdered gently with clouds, the air had that smell of cold and sun to come. It was the kind of day you did not mind getting up early for, no matter what ridiculous tasks your prince had for you.

Of course it was still impossible to be the first person up in Camelot: Merlin often jumped out of bed at dawn and by the time he was crossing the courtyard to the stables – or Arthur’s rooms – he was surrounded by early morning traffic: preparing to work, preparing to sell, preparing to run the court behind the scenes. The power behind Uther’s smoothly-run kingdom: his staff.

He knew most of them by name now, thanks to Gaius’ errands. He would nod and smile and say cheerily, “Good morning!” to them. Not that they were exactly his friends. Not that. But even the curt nods and occasional smiles he got made him feel infinitely more at home here than he ever had in the little village his mother called home. Camelot was bigger. Even as the Crown Prince’s manservant – and one taken to interrupting court functions or causing general mayhem – it was easier to just sort of… fit in. Or at least not be noticed, save for a vague amusement.

Merlin was so lost in these quietly content thoughts that he walked right past Arthur, humming something idle and happy.

“Merlin! Merlin, for the love of all things… come here.”

One foot was up and the young man struggled to halt his forward momentum, landing awkwardly and looking over his shoulder. Arthur was there, at the entrance to the royal stables. He was holding Pax – his dun mare – by her reins, rubbing her nose affectionately and letting her rest her head on his shoulder. Arthur was strangely indulgent when it came to Pax in a way Merlin never saw him with anything else. Maybe it was just that the only other animals in Camelot tended to be spit and roast.

“Did I – or did I not – say that this morning we were going to be in the stables? Do you even listen to a word I say?”

“S-sorry, Sire. I… you are up early,” he mumbled by way of apology, immediately walking over to stand by Arthur, head ducked. “I thought you would want me to tend to you before you rode.”

“Yes, I am up early.” Arthur seemed to consider the apology, and the lack of further reprimand was the only way Merlin could tell his explanation was accepted – and justified. “Very well. As you can see, I am perfectly tended to and so we can skip past those parts of your duties for today.”

“Yes, Sire.” Although he had no idea what they would be: Pax was saddled and bridled, and her warm brown coat gleamed from recent grooming. He’d long suspected that Arthur knew how to do a lot of what Merlin now did for him – and not just because he didn’t seem to have had a manservant before him. So this did not surprise him. 

“…can I ask… what?” he ventured.

Arthur grinned. “Take Pax.”

***

Merlin had led the horse before, but not with the prince walking a mere brace of paces behind them both. The mare was good-tempered enough, yet she still managed to make Merlin feel uncomfortable over extended periods of time. And Arthur’s eyes boring a hole in the back of his head wasn’t helping either.

“Keep going,” Arthur called when he glanced back again, making sure the sensation of being followed was not imagined. It would be just like Arthur to vanish for some reason, only to reappear and criticise his lack of observation or something. Merlin was not paranoid… his prince really _was_ like that. “Not much further now.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you, you know, rode the horse?” Merlin asked. “I mean, that’s what they’re for, isn’t it?” He knew he sounded dubious.

Arthur laughed in response: a short, sharp bark of a noise that caught him by surprise. Arthur rarely laughed. Smiled – sometimes – rarely laughed. Maybe knowing you were going to be king one day did that to you. Or something.

“One of the major uses for them, yes. I think we’re far enough now: you can stop, Merlin.”

Merlin stopped. Pax continued for just a pace more, and Merlin was surprised when she halted so easily and he didn’t have to hold the huge beast back and wrench his hands and shoulders in the process. He relaxed and tried not to look… well. Foolish. He transferred the reins from one hand to the other and turned to look at Arthur.

The prince had his thumbs hooked into the belt holding his riding trousers up: stronger than the ones he wore for sword-training, or for the endless feasts, banquets or other social engagements that seemed to happen more often than not. His head was tilted slightly and his eyes narrowed in a calculating way as he started to slowly circle his servant and horse. Merlin squirmed uncomfortably.

“Uh, did… did I forget something? Or is this a little ritual you have to spook your horse before you jump on her?”

“Pax isn’t spooked, Merlin. You are.”

“I am not!”

“You are. Look at you: you’re practically dancing from foot to foot, and you stand as far away from her as you can and still keep hold of her. If someone shouted ‘boo’ right now, you’d leap out of your skin.”

“I would not!”

That was not a very intelligent reply, upon circumspection. But it made sense at the time and it was too late to unsay it.

“You haven’t ridden a horse before, have you, Merlin?” Arthur held up a hand: empty, flat-palmed. “Now it’s nothing to be ashamed of: I know you’re not a nobleman and horses are expensive commodities. There’s no reason for you to have ridden a horse before, and that really is alright.”

Merlin snapped his jaw shut, before he said something equally inspired like, ‘huh?’ and managed to think for a moment before he warily replied. “So… your point is? I… I can still tack and muck out, can’t I? I haven’t done something… terribly wrong about knightly horse things, have I?”

“I wanted to see how Pax reacted to your nerves,” Arthur replied, without really answering the question. “That’s why I had you walk her out here.”

“…right.” Clear as mud.

“You will have to learn how to ride, Merlin. I may need you to come to places with me, when I am king. And as I doubt you can run as fast as my horse can… you will have to learn how to ride.”

“Oh.” Oh. That… didn’t sound good. Merlin had heard horror stories of people thrown and trampled on and kicked and things. And he still wasn’t sure that Arthur’s horse secretly hated him for brushing her wrong or making her wear bridles and things. “Oh.”

“Pax likes you. See her ears? She’s happy enough with you, even though you’re nervous enough to spook most mounts. A scared horse with a scared rider is a _very_ dangerous thing indeed. So I want to make _you_ not be scared.”

“Which is why we’re here?” Merlin looked about: they were some distance from the walls of Camelot, which he could see over a bluff in the distance. An open, green space with trees in the distance. And no one else in sight. “You want me to learn how to ride?”

Arthur nodded, and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes. There is no one better in all of Camelot to teach you… and… and I would rather other people did not see me teaching you, or you learning.”

“Not a very princely thing to do, is it?” 

“No. Yes. No. It…. It’s complicated.”

Merlin looked up at the mare again, who was snuffling his hand inquisitively. At least he hoped it was inquisitiveness, and not hunger. Horses _did_ only eat oats and hay, right?

“Well, we should start my humiliation as soon as possible, then! I wouldn’t want to take up your much-needed princey-time when you could be training knights and other things.”

Arthur smirked, and the earnest, thoughtful expression faded back into something Merlin recognised better. “Think of it as practice for me, too. I’m supposed to teach my knights to ride almost as well as me.”

Merlin laughed, thinking of some of the knights. Thinking of them _on a horse_.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What.” It was dull. Not a real question at all… more of a challenge.

“Oh… nothing. I was just… nothing. Shall we?”

****

By midday, Merlin was beginning to wish Arthur had just asked him to spend the day mucking out, cleaning muddy armour and washing the royal (and slightly smelly) socks. Seriously. Anything would be better than this… even Gaius’ anatomy lessons would be appreciated right now.

“No, _flow_ with her! Move when she does, not when you think she should.”

Move when she does? What did Arthur think Merlin was doing: levitating five feet off the ground just above the horse’s back? Oh, actually…

… _no_ , not even he was stupid enough to think that kind of magic was a good idea. Unfortunately.

“I am!” he whined, gritting his teeth as the jolting sent his teeth chattering again. Pax was cantering about in a circle in response to Merlin’s awkward commands and Arthur’s _totally helpful_ interference. 

At least he was on the thing now. The first few attempts at jumping – sorry – _mounting_ the animal had ended up with a mouth full of horse-flank, tangled legs and a bruised ego to match his backside.

Now he could scramble up into the saddle nine times out of ten, and could get down (in some form) ten times out of ten. It was just the moving-on-the-horse bit he was struggling with now.

“No you’re not. **Merlin** , relax your knees and pretend you’re sitting in a wagon… anything! Pax is _not_ going to throw you, and you’re doing just fine. Or you would be if you could _relax_.”

Relax. He laughed as Pax responded to a whistled command and turned neatly on the spot to canter in the other direction. It was making him dizzy and he had to resist the urge to grab hold of her mane again and scream for her to stop.

Eventually the circular, equine torture was enough to satisfy – or maybe bore – Arthur, and he told Merlin to pull the reins and ask Pax to stop. He did gladly, and slid from her back to the ground in relief. His hand was shaking when he gave the reins to Arthur, who held his horse’s nose and looked long into her eyes before vaulting impeccably into her, finding his seat like one to the mount born. Which, Merlin could not help thinking uncharitably, he was.

“Let’s go back now.”

“Oh, let’s,” he replied, knowing he sounded drained and more than a little stressed.

“Don’t worry: you’ve learned a lot more than Sir Roland did in a week, and he claims he used to ride before he came to Camelot. You’ll be galloping, jumping, and battle-mounting in no time.”

From Arthur that was high praise indeed.

“…thanks,” he managed, a little surprised all the same.

“Only because you have such an excellent teacher and horse, of course,” Arthur immediately clarified. Merlin snorted.

“Of course,” he echoed. But he managed a sincere, “…thanks,” in addition.

“Just remember: none of this ever happened. I don’t want anyone knowing what we’ve been up to. Do I have your word?”

“You have my word, Sire.” 

Merlin didn’t mind promising at all, but he did wonder why it was so urgent to teach him to ride and to swear him to secrecy at the same time. And even though Arthur was often good at thinking ahead, he couldn’t help but wonder if this sudden training had some more significant meaning than he had figured out yet.

Oh well, he’d know soon enough.

***

‘Soon enough’ turned out, in fact, to be about a fortnight later. Which was a very long time to wait.

There was no time for more lessons in between, and Arthur seemed distracted and distant: only more so every day. He would vanish for long hours in consultation with his knights, and when Merlin did manage to find the prince, he looked forever deep in thought.

Merlin had picked up on the tension immediately. All his gentle attempts to draw Arthur out had failed, though, with the answer ‘nothing’ if he asked what was on his prince’s mind. And gentle and subtle were not Merlin’s strongest suits, so after asking him and standing looking like a fool didn’t work, he ran out of good ideas.

Eventually Merlin stopped asking. He stopped enjoying his work again – back like it had been when he first started this ‘manservant’ nightmare – and he was happy to fling himself onto his cot each night, not bothering even to read his book. Whenever he tried to study his magic, Merlin realised he wasn’t paying any attention to the words… and the one spell he did try set his trouser leg on fire. Fortunately he put out the flames before he actually cooked himself alive, and a slightly pink shin was all the evidence of his misadventure.

No: until Arthur stopped brooding, it was a bad idea for Merlin to do magic. Or anything. He seemed to mess everything from heating water to cleaning swords to making beds. Not that Arthur would… shout at him, or anything. Just sigh or frown and send him off to do something else. Or even dismiss him entirely. That wasn’t like him, either.

It was – quite frankly – the longest two weeks of Merlin’s life. Not even Gaius or Gwen could cheer him up. Gaius did try, and Merlin was glad his guardian and surrogate father was such a patient man. Merlin was enough to test the calmest of individuals on his good days.

Take this evening, for example.

“Are you going to eat that?”

“Hmm?”

“I said: are you going to eat that?” The physician crossed his arms over the back of the second chair, standing across from Merlin.

Merlin looked down and realised he’d been drawing pentagrams in his broth with his spoon. “Oh. Ah. Yes. Sorry…”

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to give you a truth serum before you’ll tell me what is on your strange little mind?”

He smiled at that, and put down his spoon. “Funny, I’ve been asking similar questions myself.”

Gaius tilted his head slightly to the side. “Arthur.” It wasn’t a question, of course. Why would it be? Gaius had that uncanny knack of knowing precisely what damn-fool adventure Merlin was up to… usually because there was trouble in Camelot and he was never far behind.

But apart from Gwen… there wasn’t really anyone else who he could mean, was there?

“First he took me out… _riding_ – oh but he swore me to secrecy on that one so forget I mentioned it – and _then_ he spends the last… forever… argh!” 

It was a good job the spoon was already on the table, because Merlin would have thrown it down about now in annoyance. And got broth all over himself. He looked piteously up at Gaius.

“Doing what, precisely?” So patient. Sometimes Merlin wondered if Gaius had an impatient bone in his body.

“…nothing! Not that I can see, anyway. Talking to his knights. Going _missing_. Talking…”

“You said that already.”

“He’s been doing a lot of talking.” Merlin shrugged, feeling stupid. “He doesn’t normally talk. I mean, he does. But he spends more time riding and jousting and training and things. But since Uther confirmed him as Crown Prince… he’s changed, Gaius.”

The healer nodded sagely, as though it was something he expected all along. 

“Perhaps Uther has asked him to take on more responsibilities. Or perhaps he is feeling the strain of his duties at the moment. Arthur is growing up: he’s becoming a man.”

“I thought he was already a man,” Merlin replied, sourly. “Some destiny I’m going to have if it’s to wash his socks while he’s off… _talking_ , and I’m just buffing shoes all day.”

“Things will come right in time. I’m sure of it. Now: come on. Let’s get this cleared away and you can study poultices for head-wounds. You’re doing yourself no favours by simply moping each night.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed, and gave up even pretending to eat his broth. “Maybe you can teach me what to make for a prince who has been replaced with a changeling.”

“Well, the first thing I would do would be make sure the changeling doesn’t hear you plotting ‘treason’, Merlin.”

The young man winced at the voice from behind, blushing slightly. “Sorry, Sire,” he said as he turned and hurriedly stood up, pushing his chair back from the table. 

“You really need to practice your subterfuge and subtlety if you want to make such grand plots and keep such important secrets,” Arthur went on, strolling into the room and peering down at the half-full bowl. “Lovely,” he added, looking back up to hold Merlin’s eye.

“Merlin was just telling me how hard you’d been working, my Lord,” Gaius offered, demurely bowing his head. “He was concerned that your duties were weighing heavily upon you.”

“Is that right? Well, Merlin. You’re in luck then: I have a master plan. Unlike _you_ , I am capable of doing things without everyone finding out. Now. Come with me to meet my father.”

“N-now? Yes, yes of course.” Merlin bit his tongue at the barbed insults about his lack of discretion, although a part of him wondered briefly – and madly – if Arthur somehow _knew_ and was simply needling him into revealing himself. No. Paranoia, surely.

“Gaius, I will bring him back in one piece, I promise. I’m not actually a monster in disguise.”

“I never said you were!”

“Merlin: you _do_ know what changelings are, don’t you? Or is this yet another area in which you are _woefully_ undereducated? Not that I’m surprised, I suppose. You _are_ just my manservant, after all.”

“What! It… it was just a turn of phrase. I wasn’t _actually_ implying you had been replaced by some evil, magical force.”

“Good, because I’m sure my father would be very tempted to dunk me to see if I floated or something if you mention it in his hearing.”

“I promise I won’t mention to Uther that his only son is, in fact, a magical shapeshifter out to eat his brains.”

Arthur cuffed him gently around the head. “Don’t!”

Merlin laughed. “I won’t, I won’t…”

He completely forgot to say goodbye to Gaius until they were quite some way to the throne room, and it was too late to turn around then.

Gaius would forgive him, though, he was sure. Arthur… seemed almost back to his old self. Even the worst of the abuse was like a warm hug coming from Arthur, and Merlin began to hope the period of brooding was over.

***

“…you are kidding, right? Yes?”

“No. I mean it, Merlin. Just agree with everything I say and pretend I’ve already discussed it with you and you support me one hundred percent.”

“But I don’t! I mean… I don’t know what you’re going to say.”

Arthur stopped and put a hand on each of Merlin’s arms, facing him squarely and dipping his head marginally to look him in the eye. Not that he was much taller, just that he seemed to like to make a point of their height difference. 

“You are my manservant, and even if you don’t approve you’ll be ordered to do what I say. I’m not about to suggest anything terrible… it’s a good idea. And in time I think my father will understand that. This…” Arthur glanced away for a moment, before levelling his gaze on him once more.

“This is important. I am counting on you for your support in this, and putting a lot of faith in you. My… father said you were to be trusted, so this is me listening to him. Or are you going to turn out not to be loyal after all?”

That was a little unfair, but Merlin could see by the very intent look in the prince’s eyes that he meant what he was saying, and he’d bothered to actually try to ask for Merlin’s faith rather than simply blindly order him or threaten him. Merlin had asked for the same trust from Arthur, so it was only fair he repay it.

“Alright,” he said, dubiously. “But if your idea turns out to be putting me in the stocks or… I don’t know… learning to sew, I just want you to know no one else knows how to make your armour shine like I do.”

“No stocks, no sewing.” Arthur smiled – just for a moment. “Okay. Probably no sewing.”

“I suppose that’s good enough for me, then.”

“I knew you’d understand, Merlin. Come on.”

Arthur had already arranged this meeting with his father, but even so he knocked on the door loudly, waiting for the simple ‘Come’ from inside before opening the door.

Merlin followed a pace and a half behind him, hands clasped nervously together. He was never quite sure how to behave around the King of Camelot, nor what – if anything – the man thought of him. He liked to think that his good qualities outweighed the bad. Magic aside, certainly.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, father,” Arthur started, his heels clicking neatly together and his hands clasped behind his back. For all he was often brash and self-important outside, Merlin knew he held Uther in some esteem.

Uther was sitting easily in his throne, head propped on one hand. “Not at all, Arthur. You know you are welcome to speak to me at any time, no matter what the issue.”

Except magic, Merlin thought to himself. No matter what the issue unless it’s magic. He tried not to smile to himself.

Arthur nodded, but didn’t say anything in response. Merlin wondered if Arthur was harbouring similarly dissident thoughts. “My Lord, I have now reached my majority. I am the Crown Prince, and I have with this role a greater range of responsibilities ahead of me.”

“In time, yes. But you had already accepted much responsibility and discharge those duties well.” Uther was clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I speak of when I am crowned in your stead, father.”

“I see. You have something to ask me, don’t you?”

Arthur nodded, and his hands moved in front of him, gesturing with open palms. “The Knights are well trained. Although we lost two good men recently… those we do have are loyal, and well practised. You do not need my assistance to administrate the running of Camelot. I intend to ride out.”

Merlin was having difficulty trying to predict what Arthur was going to say next. This decision seemed utterly out of the blue to him, but it was probably because the prince had been absent and Merlin hadn’t been privy to any of his mysterious discussions. And from how Arthur was still being cagey with the King and hadn’t told Merlin what he had to blanket-agree to, either, it sounded like he wasn’t certain of the reception.

But ride out? What did that mean? Ride out… where? Hunting?

“No.”

“Sire, this is a good decision for Camelot. It will function well without me for some months, and be well-protected. I will be able to strengthen existing alliances, forge new ones, and get the lie of the land. I will be able to make myself known independently of you, and potentially encourage more Knights to pledge their fealty to Camelot.”

Uther was still frowning. “You are my only son and…”

“…and I am perfectly capable of defending myself. Father: you know it.” Then, Arthur pulled himself up, hands by his sides. “And there is the question of marriage.”

Uther’s eyes narrowed, and Merlin could sense the crackling between the two. He felt uncomfortable and in the way, and he wondered if Arthur had just asked him along for moral support… or to dissuade Uther from flying into a fit of rage with his son. Although how he was supposed to manage that he was not sure. 

Clearly the question of marriage was a prickly one, and Merlin didn’t really want to know why. It was like Arthur had played some sort of trump card.

“Arthur…”

“Father. This will be good for Camelot. Merlin will accompany me, and we will travel light…”

“No. You are not just travelling with your manservant. I expressly forbid it.”

“You are short on men as it is.”

“You will take two Knights with you. I will not bend on this.”

“Done.”

Uther’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He had just been very well played, Merlin could tell. His respect for the man’s son only improved.

“Sir Kay and Sir Oswald will accompany us. We will set out at the end of the week,” he said cheerily, clapping Merlin on the arm. “I will have messengers sent out announcing my visits to our allies.”

Arthur looked at Merlin.

“Oh… oh yes! Yes. They’ll be out tomorrow,” he promised, nodding first to Arthur, then to Uther. Who probably thought he was insane, from the confused expression he was sure he was wearing.

It wasn’t _his_ fault Arthur threw him for a loop so often. The man seemed to delight in it.

“You will be _careful_ , Arthur,” Uther warned him. And then, to Merlin, “You see that he comes back safely or you will wish you’d died horribly and screaming in his place.”

“Y-yes, my Liege! Yes…”

“Come on, we have packing to do,” Arthur grinned. 

Uther rubbed long fingers over his mouth. “You’re dismissed.”

Thank the stars.

“Ah… ‘ _we_ ’ have packing to do?”

“Yes, you do,” Arthur replied quickly. “Lots of packing. Aren’t you glad there’s only four of us going?”

“Infinitely.”

***

The rest of the week was madly busy for both Merlin and Arthur. Arthur had to have more meetings with people – usually his Knights – and Merlin had to pack and order supplies and learn everything there was to know about royal expeditions.

This wasn’t going to be sleeping under trees and on bedrolls and stuffed into his mother’s little cottage. That had been a one-off: a necessity. Something Arthur had done for _him_. But Uther was not about to let his only son and heir spend the next however-long living like a peasant. It wasn’t going to happen.

Instead there was a royal tent. It folded up small enough that it would fit into one small wagon, and be drawn by a pair of horses. The wagon would also carry cooking vessels, armour, hunting and skinning tools and a host of other things. Merlin was just glad his prince was a very practical one: they were not taking a huge retinue, and the things Arthur had outlined to him had been solely useful items, nothing would be surplus to requirements.

Which was really lucky, because there was simply no _room_ to pack anything else. And he’d only fit everything in because Gwen had taken pity on him.

“Are you _sure_ you know how to put up his tent?”

“Gwen, for the last time… I’ll figure it out. How hard can it be?”

She laughed. “Honestly? Seeing you even try to get it all in the wagon – let alone back in the bags after you’re done each night? I’m sure we’ll hear the screaming in Morgana’s room.”

Merlin smiled. “Thank you.”

“What for?” She tilted her head in confusion at him, in that way that always made him laugh inside. She looked so quizzical, when he was sure she was one of the smartest people he knew. Not book-smart… but world-smart. He liked Gwen a lot.

“For everything. For… this,” he waved at the over-packed wagon, with the tent poles still poking out in places. “For putting up with me. And… all my mad ideas.”

“Merlin. You saved my life. More than that… you’re my friend.” Gwen reached out for his hand, patting it on the back. “Why are you saying this? Don’t… aren’t you coming back?”

“What?” Oh, that was how it sounded. Yes. He slapped a hand to his face. “Yes. Yes. We’re coming back. _I’m_ coming back. It… it’s just… we’re going to be gone a long time and you never know what could happen and…”

Gwen laughed at him, clapping her hands to her thighs. “Merlin. You’ll be fine. You’re going with three Knights – one of them the Prince of the Realm and the best swordsman other than Morgana I’ve ever seen. And you handled yourself fine at Ealdor.”

“Yeah. I did, didn’t I.” Although only because of his magic.

Gwen had her hands on her hips, and looked like she was waiting for something.

“What? I did, didn’t I?”

“You were supposed to say: so did you and the Lady Morgana.” She paused. “And all the other women.”

“…so did you and the Lady Morgana, and all the other women,” he repeated, as if by rote, then yelped as she smacked his arm. “What now?”

“Not like that!”

“I suppose I deserved it,” he admitted.

“Yes, you did.”

“I meant it though. I… really appreciate what you did. All of you.”

“I know you did. And you’ll do the same for us, when you come back.”

“Yes. Yes I will.”

Possibly carrying half of their things if Arthur was right and he _did_ get presents as part of this trip.

Maybe they would need a second wagon…

***

“You want me to ride _what_ , my Lord?”

For once, this was Sir Kay speaking, not Merlin.

Sir Kay was the same height as Arthur, and in profile could almost be his double. The main difference being his hair was the colour of horse-chestnuts, his eyes were brown and his nose was ever so slightly too long for his face. But otherwise they were strikingly similar: similar enough that there had been rumours about Sir Kay’s parentage.

Sir Kay seemed unbothered by these rumours, though, laughing and saying he had his father’s nose, so if anything it was Arthur people needed to worry about.

This soon shut people up. No one wanted to really accuse Uther of being cuckolded. Not and have him hear about it.

Sir Kay also had a filthy tongue. Merlin had seen a lot of people blush around him, because he rarely held anything back from anyone except the King. He hadn’t been around him enough to fully make his mind up, though. Arthur had seemed much the same the first time they had met, and things had changed with him. So…

“You are my best rider. Of all my men. You know this, Kay.”

“Yes, Sire. I do. Which is why I want to know why I’m molly-coddling the tent and the hack pulling it, when Oswald and the servant ride up with you. It makes no _sense_.”

“I don’t mind swapping,” Merlin offered, trying not to sound too hopeful and instead helpful. Then Sir Kay might like him.

“No. Merlin: you are riding with me. Kay, you know why. I want everyone to learn how to excel. This is something you can’t learn any more of, and the others can.”

“And I can learn how to tow goods like a servant?”

“No, you can learn how to tow goods like a Knight.” Arthur was not to be swayed. “But you will get to take turns with Oswald. And Merlin, if he gets too saddle-sore to stay on horseback.”

Sir Kay barked a sharp laugh at that, and turned to Merlin. “Oh, boy, you don’t have an idea what you’re letting yourself in for, do you? Have you even ridden a horse before?”

“Yes. And… it’s Merlin. Sir Kay. My name is Merlin.”

“I know your name.”

“Use it, Kay,” Arthur said, warningly.

“Very well. I hope you have, Merlin. Because I shan’t be putting salve on your behind when you have to stand in your stirrups, or can’t sit to sh—”

Sir Oswald clapped the other Knight on the shoulder, distracting him. “What have I missed?”

The last of their entourage arrived in suspiciously good time. Sir Kay stopped what he was saying and threw his hands up in the air, muttering darkly under his breath and wandering over to the wagon. Sir Oswald looked blankly between Arthur and Sir Kay, before shrugging at Merlin with a friendly smile.

“Kay was just saying how much he was looking forward to the chance for adventure, after so many years cooped up in Camelot,” Arthur supplied, his tone deadpan. 

The Knight seemed to accept the rebuke, because his muttering stopped and he bent to check the straps and harness around the two horses that were his responsibility. The tension in his shoulders didn’t fade, however.

“I would also like to express my gratitude for choosing me for this mission, my Lord. I am deeply honoured to follow you, and I hope I acquit myself well.” Sir Oswald said this without the slightest hint of irony, or even fawning. It surprised Merlin to hear such an earnest tone, and he wondered if it was authentic.

Whilst Merlin had only seen Sir Kay in passing and heard rumours and gossip about the sharp-tongued Knight, he knew even less of Sir Oswald: the man was rarely mentioned, except in terms of his skills. There was no personal commentary, nothing. It was as if someone had cast a spell on him and anyone trying to think about him or talk about him suddenly found themselves thinking about something else instead. Even Gaius had nothing much to say about him when Merlin had tried to get as much information about them before they set out.

Merlin decided he would have to make his own mind up about Sir Oswald, much as he would try to do for Sir Kay. 

The second Knight was, however, as unlike Prince Arthur and Sir Kay as it was possible to be. Whilst the other two were tall and well-framed, Oswald was much shorter than all three of them. He was perhaps a little shorter even than Gwen, and slight of frame like Merlin. He wore his hair down to his shoulders, though he fastened it at the nape of his neck like a woman who worked. His hair was a glorious fox-red colour, and his eyes a bright green and wide, above a sharp nose and shapely lips. If anyone looked fey, it was Sir Oswald.

“I am sure you will,” Arthur answered him. “Sir Oswald: this is Merlin. My manservant.”

The Knight held out his hand and beamed. “I have heard we owe you our Prince, Merlin. I am glad to ride out with you.”

This made Merlin like him immediately, even if he was still a little wrong-footed by the courtesy. It surely was too good to be true? Or had he just seen too many sharp nobles that the ones in the stories had passed by unnoticed?

“And with you, Sir Oswald. I hope I will keep up.”

“Oh, call me Oswald, Merlin. At least when it’s just us four. Use your discretion when we’re in company, is all I ask.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Sir Kay started cracking the whip. He had apparently settled into his new role and was even taking some perverse pleasure in snapping the whip just above his horses: startling them but not yet making them bolt. 

“Same,” he said, leaning forwards in his seat. 

Merlin turned on his heel to look at him.

“I’m not stuck up. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not stuck up. You can call me Kay, so long as you use my name right.”

“Be careful, they’ll be wanting you to quaff ale with them and behave like a ninny before long,” Arthur said, but there was a warmth behind the caution. Only momentary, but there.

“Maybe when we reach Setanti,” Kay rejoined immediately. “They do good ale there. Even better women…”

“Enough! We’ll never leave if we stay planning all day. Mount up, everyone: we’re heading out.”

Merlin was impressed by the immediate reaction by both of the Knights, drilled to perfection as they were. Kay jogged his reins and snapped the whip just above the horses again, causing them to pull in their harness. Oswald patted his dappled grey mare on the neck, then vaulted atop her in one easy movement – his height seeming to cause him no problems.

Arthur was just as soon on Pax, and wheeled her around on the spot. Merlin could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he faced his own young, black mount. With a deep breath he pushed, closing his eyes even as he did it. When he opened them a moment later he was surprised to find he was sitting reasonably well on the horse’s back. She whirred under him, and took two paces backwards… but he was on her. Which was cause for some internal celebration.

“Oh my. Could you have picked anyone greener, Arthur?” Kay asked, smirking openly.

“Not and have someone who could keep my armour in good repair, no.” Arthur’s response gave nothing away.

Merlin felt a little deflated. It was an achievement in his own eyes, mounting an unfamiliar horse in one go. “I’m also good at cooking,” he lied.

“No you’re not,” Arthur corrected him.

“No, I’m not,” Merlin admitted. 

Kay howled in amusement and slapped the wagon seat. “Well, I like you anyway Merlin, and I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough when hungry.”

“I will certainly try.”

***

The first two days were a little awkward, of course. They were not riding to anywhere Arthur had been in the past three years, which meant they were going to further outreaching cities. Which meant they were riding for some days before they reached their first destination: Fosse.

Merlin did get saddle-sore after the first day, much as Kay had predicted. However, somewhat unexpectedly Kay had then approached him a short distance from the camp whilst he was gathering wood and held out a small vial.

“I had Gaius make extra. I wagered with him you wouldn’t ask for any, and he gave it me free for the prize. It’s good before and after, and it’s something you hopefully won’t need for long.”

“Oh… oh thank you so much, Sir Kay. I… well you can probably tell I haven’t done this before.”

“No, I didn’t think you had. Arthur’s a good teacher, but he came to horseback like he was born astride one, so he forgets sometimes how others had to learn. Try relaxing, and ride her like a woman.” Then he laughed at whatever Merlin’s face must have looked like. “No, no, not like _that_. I meant… relax. The horse knows what she’s doing and for all she’s a high-spirited one, she won’t throw you. I can tell.”

“How?”

“I understand horses better than people,” Kay admitted. “They’re simpler. And she’s proud to carry you: you can see it in the way she holds her neck and picks her feet. She likes you.”

“It doesn’t feel like it…” Merlin groused.

“It will.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say, then. Or what to do. He was only a very basic student of medicine and apothecary and he didn’t trust himself to make anything except in the direst of emergencies. Aside from washing socks and dressing people… his only talent was magic.

“I’m sorry Arthur put you on the cart,” he offered.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. If nothing else it means I can watch you wobble along from behind. And if I get _really_ bored, I can pretend Oswald is a wench. I keep myself amused.”

Merlin choked. “I’m not sure I wanted to know that. Does… does Oswald know?”

Kay snorted. “Not likely. And if you tell him, I’ll make you the Prince’s eunuch manservant. So it’s just between you and me, understand?”

“…perfectly.”

Well not perfectly. Merlin had no idea what a eunuch was. He had no idea what half the things Sir Kay said meant. But the implication was clear enough.

So with his sore behind sorted, all that was left was the tent.

He wished he was powerful enough to enchant it to erect and disassemble itself. However, he didn’t think even he could hide that one from Arthur.

Time for more calluses on his palms, then.

***

They reached Fosse one balmy evening. They had actually been close enough to approach the walls by early afternoon, but Arthur had decided to use the time they’d gained on the road in training. Oswald and Kay had both leaped at the idea, and Merlin understood why it was useful to keep in condition.

He understood less why it was useful to him to be swaddled in padding and over-sized armour and smacked about the head again. Although Arthur had let Oswald give him a very brief lesson in the basics of sword-fighting, which was more useful and meant his arms ached as much as his head did.

Fosse’s pennant was a black horse rearing over a quartered shield of _vert_ and _bleu_. In the background, a stylised _argent_ river bisected the device. 

Merlin knew this because Arthur had reeled off a list of places they were going to visit and told Merlin to research their heraldry, their nobility and their customs… as well as their known loyalties. 

He reeled off the information for the other three as they came within sight of the large castle. It was of a darker stone than Camelot, and the turrets were more squat and Merlin thought them a lot less attractive than Arthur’s castle. He did not say this, however.

They were furlongs away before a rider came out to meet them on a horse as black as Merlin’s. His hair was a bright red and his clothes were deep forest green. Like them, he flew the flag of peace, and he pulled his mount to a halt just a man’s length away.

“Greetings,” the young boy said, slightly out of breath and pink in the face. He had obviously come at some pace. “My Lord bids me ask you who you are and whence you are come to Fosse.”

“I am Prince Arthur of Camelot,” Arthur replied, lifting his chin proudly. “With Sir Kay and Sir Oswald, and Merlin. Did you not receive the notice of my visit?”

“Well met, Prince. Yes… yes we did. But we were not sure if it was a…” he licked his lips as he tried to find a delicate way of putting it. “Your father, King Uther, has not been very… outgoing in recent years. We were surprised to hear of your visit.”

“I am now Crown Prince of Camelot, and thus I am riding out to make and keep allies of my own. I would be greatly honoured by your hospitality: we have ridden long and hard to get here.”

“Yes, certainly! You must be weary from your travels. Please, follow me. King Godfrey and Queen Beatrice will be delighted to have you stay with us.”

“Thank you. Young…?”

“Oh! I am Percival,” he replied. “Please, pardon me.”

“Not at all. Well met Percival. Please take us to Fosse, and ask an audience of your King and Queen.”

“At once!”

***

Inside, Fosse was very similar to Camelot. Merlin noticed that their common wares were somewhat different, but otherwise it seemed to be run along much the same lines. This was interesting, as Camelot was the only big city he had ever seen, and the only place other than Ealdor that he knew well.

Sir Kay and Sir Oswald had been given their own rooms, but the best had been saved for Arthur. There had been discreet enquiries after Merlin, but Arthur had immediately quelled them by saying that Merlin should either have a room adjoining his own, or a camp bed put in.

The very idea of people trying to gauge his importance and station enough to assign him appropriate quarters amused him. As he had told Arthur just weeks before: before Camelot, he had not even had the benefit of a bed, let alone his own room.

Arthur had taken his two Knights to his audience with Godfrey and Beatrice, leaving Merlin in his room with the injunction to unpack, tidy up, get things how he liked them and make sure there was nothing nasty and unwanted in the room.

Merlin wondered what ‘nasty and unwanted’ amounted to: horrible curtains? Or was Arthur actually worried there would be poisonous… spiders? Or mice? Not that a normal servant would be able to get ride of those.

So Merlin unpacked. And put things about in a way as closely resembling Arthur’s rooms at Camelot as he could. The curtains he decided were floral but inoffensive, and he didn’t find any thing alive in there other than himself.

Admittedly half of this involved him opening dusty jars and breathing inside getting dust on his face, or saying, “Helloooo… is there anyone evil or otherwise hiding? I will find you! If you come out peacefully we can all pretend nothing happened and Prince Arthur won’t kill you horribly… or King Uther kill me,” he added, under his breath. There was no response to any of this.

All of his unpacking, tidying and checking took maybe an hour, stretched out, leaving Merlin bored and feeling vaguely guilty afterwards. He had no books to read (bringing a magic book on a diplomatic holiday with the Prince was too stupid even for him) and whilst if he had been back at Camelot he would have hunted out Gwen or begged scraps from the castle’s scullery, he didn’t dare go walkabout in Fosse. For one thing, he wasn’t certain he wouldn’t get terribly lost and eaten by dogs, or something.

So he sat in one of the comfortably padded chairs, first, planning to pretend it was a throne. The chair had more padding than even his whole bed in Camelot, and it was strange to sit on it. It sort of… swallowed you whole, and Merlin had leaped out of it first to make sure that it _wasn’t_ secretly enchanted and evil.

He said a few spells over it, trying to get it to reveal itself… but there was no response. In the end he decided it was not evil, just… fluffy. “I’m watching you,” he warned it, glancing away and then back rapidly to see if it moved when he wasn’t ‘looking’. “If you do turn out to be evil I will curse the stuffing out of you.” It didn’t hurt to be prepared.

That done, he no longer wanted to sit in it so his next mission was to explore the bed.

Reasoning that he would hear Arthur coming long before he opened the door, Merlin kicked off his boots and sat down on the edge.

If the chair was squishy, the bed was like sitting on mushy peas, only infinitely more pleasant. He yelped and jumped up. “Sweet holy… what are _you_?” he asked, poking the bed with one finger.

The finger kept going in. And in. And…

Merlin pulled his finger out. Prodded it in again. Out. 

He looked around… biting his lip.

Then he jumped and landed flat on his back on the bed.

“….oooooh…”

***

Footsteps in the corridor made Merlin jump up from the bed and frantically smooth it. He glanced over at the wardrobe to make sure he had put everything back in once he’d done trying it on, and convinced himself that Arthur wouldn’t be any the wiser.

When Arthur walked inside, Merlin was standing a few steps to the side, hands clasped behind his back and a nervous smile on his face.

“Welcome back, Sire.”

“I see now why my father doesn’t speak to Godfrey very often,” Arthur immediately complained, pacing in and pulling his gloves off, flinging them onto the bed haphazardly.

Merlin moved to retrieve them and put them in the riding jacket that was hanging behind the door, knowing that Arthur was likely to lose them if he didn’t.

“Tough audience?” he asked, immediately going to remove the formal jacket from the prince when he stood expectantly with his arms straight.

“You could say that. And determined to betroth me to his eldest child: Brigid.”

“And you don’t want to marry her, my Lord?” The smart jacket was folded and put on the small footlocker beside the wardrobe, where Merlin would easily remember to pack it tomorrow. Or whenever they left.

“Have you seen her? No, what am I thinking. Of course you haven’t. Not only is she round enough that nothing short of a plough-horse would carry her, she has _the_ singularly most annoying laugh in the world and thinks everything is ridiculously funny. So you get to hear that annoying laugh _all of the time_. And **then** she’s as dull as ditchwater and about as intelligent, so it’s not even like you can have a serious conversation with her.”

A very tough time, Merlin surmised. He went to the washbasin and fetched a cold, damp cloth, which Arthur took with a nod and used to wipe his hands and face. 

“So not the love of your life, then, Sire.”

“Not the love of anyone’s life but her parents, Merlin. No.”

“Then why are we here? They are already our allies, aren’t they? That’s what the annals said. And good allies too: we haven’t had any problems with them for years.”

Arthur took the chance to sit down on the bed, and Merlin tried hard not to blush as he remembered bouncing up and down on it. Arthur brushed his hair back from his eyes, letting it fall messily back down when he was done.

“It’s not just a wife. That’s the only way my father would agree to this. Frankly, I am in no hurry to wed. But all these people,” he waved a hand vaguely. “That is what they want from me, and from Camelot. A marriage. Nothing more. It’s how I will get anything from them in return: with their hope to win me for their daughters. That’s all, Merlin.”

“That doesn’t explain why we’re here, though.” He tried to run through the last part in his mind, dissecting it for meaning. “What… what is it you want?”

“Men.”

“Men?” Merlin laughed. “I don’t think they’d let you do _that_.”

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, and then his brow arched. “You’ve been talking to Sir Kay, haven’t you? He’s corrupted your little mind.”

Merlin was trying so hard not to just keep laughing. “I’m sorry. You just… the way you said it… I mean…”

Arthur threw a pillow at him. “Men. Men to be soldiers. Men to be _Knights_ , Merlin. Not men to be… women. I need men to defend the city, and I need allies. I need to have less people wanting to wage war on me, and more people wanting to help if someone _does_ attack.”

“That… makes sense.” He felt foolish for having joked now.

“It… Ealdor made this even clearer to me. All these pacts and boundaries and so on… and no one to protect people. I… think there might be a better way of doing things. And I want to see if I can start that process off. Merlin – don’t you dare tell a soul this. My father would not approve, and I’m sure most other kings would think I was trying to incite riot and rebellion. This… this plan is a lot longer than just a trip.”

“I can see that.” Merlin was shocked. This… was rather deep. Deep and wide-ranging. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

He held the pillow back out to Arthur, who scowled at it then tossed it behind him somewhere on the bed. “Good. Because I really want to make this work.”

“It… it’s a really good plan. In theory. I think it could work, but I’m not sure how.”

“That’s why I’m the Prince and you’re going to find out where the banquet hall is and take me there.”

“Now that I _can_ do.” Good. His stomach was rumbling something fierce.

***

Sir Kay and Sir Oswald were already in the banquet hall, apparently able to find it by following their noses. Merlin was not surprised by this, but he was surprised to find them sitting and laughing with the messenger from this morning – Percival?

“Ah, there you are! Merlin, come join us!”

“Arthur! The food is excellent,” Kay bellowed, louder than he needed to. Percival was wincing dramatically but he seemed to be enjoying the company of the other two men and was not really offended by the brash Knight.

“I hope you saved some food for me,” Arthur told them, finding a chair on the other side of Percival. Merlin was left to sit next to Oswald.

“There’s plenty,” Percival told him. “The King ordered a whole boar roasted in your honour.”

“If he and his Queen ever send someone to Camelot, I will have to repay the kind gesture,” Arthur told him, with that certain, steady gaze that he had.

Merlin knew he was telling the truth. This whole trip was not an empty gesture: it was really statecraft. A more subtle kind than Uther seemed to have practiced, but statecraft all the same. Arthur really was made for this. He had… such a charm. Without even needing to make promises or use his considerable beauty, he could lead with his personality alone. Merlin had seen this, back in Ealdor.

He helped himself to a generous amount of meat, but put bread and cheese on his plate too. The food here was much richer than Merlin had ever had before – the best he’d eaten being scraps from banquets when all the guests had left, or leftovers the day following – but at Oswald’s nudge to his elbow, he reached to do the same to his own plate. No one told him not to, and Merlin ate with soaring spirits, thinking this little trip might be the best idea Arthur had _ever_ had.

“Is… is it true you fought a… a… _griffin_?” Percival asked, in a slightly laboured whisper. This was when he realised the other three men had been drinking, a little.

Arthur nodded, taking a bite of the brown loaf and yellow cheese but letting his eyes meet Percival over the top. Behind him, Kay was smirking.

“Really! I thought…” Percival’s voice dropped. “ _I thought all the magic was dead_.” 

Merlin winced. No. Not… dead.

Just… reticent. Hiding. Mostly.

Mostly. Apart from the ones who wanted to kill Arthur, like the griffin. Or the evil apothecary. Or… okay. Most of the magic that wasn’t him.

“We must ever be vigilant,” was Arthur’s careful response. “And fight evil wherever we find it.”

“For all our good,” Sir Oswald added, quietly, and Merlin watched as Percival nodded.

Had Arthur told Oswald his plan?

“I want to join you,” Percival said, suddenly, then realised what he had said.

“What we do is not easy, Percival,” Arthur said, placing a hand gently on his. “It is not all glory and battles.”

“I know… I know! My older brothers… they became Knights here. I’ve seen… I’ve seen Knights train.”

“But you chose not to?” Oswald asked, looking curious.

“No… I mean… Yes. It…” He sighed. “I want to. But… my brothers. Drian and Agloval…”

Merlin realised that they had died. It was still so strange to him, how quickly and young Knights died. Even younger than poor villagers… even younger, sometimes, than Will.

“My mother does not approve,” Percival told them.

“How many people would have died if your brothers had not fought to protect them?” Arthur asked.

Percival sobered, and looked down at the table for long moments. “Many.”

“You are young, yet,” Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and shook it. “Think about it. We will come past Fosse again, and if you still want to join with us…”

He looked up, sad but thankful. 

“Think long on it before you decide that dying young in battle’s for you, lad,” Kay jumped in, his tone lightening the mood a little. Merlin was glad of it.

“Now, Kay. I want people to help me.”

“You always do, Arthur.”

Cheese bounced off Kay, and he just laughed.

Merlin was fairly sure he liked the man more every day. Even Percival seemed to relax now. Which was likely precisely what they had planned.

It was almost _too_ easy. He kept wondering when the catch would come.

***

It turned out that even the kingdoms that had no previous alliances with Camelot were at the very least polite to a small party of four, if not receptive. This, too, was part of Arthur’s master plan: while four was a dangerously small number, it was also too small to be an invading force and killing a tiny envoy would have been deplorable to practically everyone in Albion. 

And while they might manage to kill or ransom a Prince, they would rapidly find themselves out of favour with almost every other kingdom in the area: no one would trust them, and trade would become impossible.

Merlin became very good at putting tents up and down, and even a passable cook with rabbit, pheasant and whatever else Sir Kay bagged for their pot. He even became halfway decent on the horse, which he’d chosen to name ‘Bane’. They had laughed at him to begin with, but he explained it was short for ‘Henbane’ and that it was just shortened for ease.

Not because he actually did consider the mare the bane of his life. Oh no, that was surely Arthur. The horse came a close second.

Bane was mostly a good horse, and Merlin assumed it was just that he was such a bad rider that she would put her head down into hedgerows and rivers, or sometimes walk sideways or even backwards. She had a mind of her own and Merlin often gave up pretending he was the one in control and just let her do her thing… which was usually to follow Pax loyally. This suited Merlin entirely.

They visited seven kingdoms and three major trading towns, and the further out they got and the less Arthur was recognised, the more Merlin heard the townsfolk talking about them, and the more curious the looks they got.

Sir Oswald reckoned that come the spring, when boys could travel… there would be at least half a dozen turning up at Camelot’s gates, hoping to sign up to fight on her behalf. Sir Kay reckoned the number closer to a score. It would be a significant increase, no matter the numbers. But Merlin wasn’t entirely sure that Knights alone were what Arthur wanted.

The next place they were due to visit was Gore, and King Uriens. Uriens had never had any dealing with Camelot in the past, even remotely. Merlin found the whole idea a little daunting… and exciting at the same time. People treated him differently here. Sure, he still cleaned the Prince’s boots each night and tended the horses, but with two Knights talking to him like he was at least good company if nothing more… he saw how servants would bow deferentially and speak to him in pleasant tones, asking what he required.

After a terrible incident with a kitchen woman who had not been able to cope with Merlin deferring her service and insisting she needn’t call him ‘Sir’ or bow and scrape, Merlin had taken to thanking people warmly and accepting their offers of help.

Anything to not be screeched at and ordered to be more noble and lord-like by a battered old woman who couldn’t accept he was a servant too.

But at Gore, Merlin’s suspicion that there was more to the trip than Arthur had insisted (men, Knights, allies) was first put to the coalface.

Gore was far North, at the head of the long range of what Merlin assumed must be mountains down the spine of Albion. It was colder, and not just because of the time of year. The outbuildings they saw were squat and slate-grey, and the sheep grazing were ruddier and less bothered by their passing.

Sir Kay was in high spirits for once, teasing Sir Oswald and making lewd comments about sheep. Oswald was from a nearby kingdom, one they planned to visit shortly after Gore so that Arthur could thank Oswald’s father for allowing him to serve Camelot.

“I shouldn’t laugh, like as not, it’s how the locals practice the arts of love so they can please their womenfolk when they wed.”

“Not everyone needs the same amount of practice as you did, Sir Kay,” Oswald replied mildly. He never rose to any bait, and Merlin strongly suspected that he and Kay were forever complicit in their ribaldry. Or Kay’s ribaldry, and Oswald’s patient smiles.

“Hah! I’ll give you that point, though it’s not a true one. But here, I’ve thought of another reason: see those long, shaggy coats, Merlin?”

“I see them,” Merlin allowed, cautious lest Kay was tricking him into something.

“Well. It’s mighty cold up here. P’rhaps the men seek to cure two problems at once: cold and animal urges.”

Merlin found himself smiling broadly despite himself, and he could even see the firmly smothered amusement in Arthur’s face.

“Sir Kay is just jealous that his first woman was, and I quote, ‘a dog’, Merlin, so pay him no heed,” Arthur cut in, voice utterly serious.

Sir Kay howled in approval and rocked back and forth. “Oh, Sire… I’m _so_ glad you’ll be my King.”

Arthur allowed himself the slightest smiles and nods. “I’m pleased I meet with your exacting approval, Sir Kay.”

“Oh, oh, you do… you do…”

Then they were nearing Gore and Kay had the intelligence to stop talking about sheep and only make thinly veiled comments about the drabness of the castle and porridge. 

Word had been travelling, now, that Prince Arthur of far-distant Camelot truly was making a tour of all kingdoms: in peace and without a betrothed. They rode flying the Pendragon banner and were greeted by an outrider before they were in bugle-distance of the walls.

“Prince Arthur! And his Knights! Welcome, welcome! King Uriens bids you stay at his expense and with his blessing. Welcome!” 

The greeter this time was a short, round man in vibrant livery. His mount pawed the ground and arched its neck, shaking out the tangle of its mane.

“I would be honoured to accept King Uriens’ most generous hospitality,” Arthur replied at once, in his best state voice.

If Merlin hadn’t known better, he would have thought the greeter fair swooned to hear it. “Then please, follow me!”

Bane took her lead from Pax and followed head-to-flank: a position that Arthur didn’t seem to object to. Oswald was on the right (being the one trained in combat) and he rode almost on a level with the prince.

Merlin was amused to note how the pretty dappled grey the greeter was riding seemed to match his personality: both were rounded about the middle, and both seemed high-spirited and gay. For all the man was showering them with over-the-top attention, Merlin sensed no duplicity in it and was quite amused. He was not sure Arthur would see things the same way.

They stabled their mounts and left their care to the stable-boy, which pleased Merlin immensely. Their messenger, Harold, insisted on pushing all the bags onto a young lad of seven years at most, refusing Merlin’s offer of service.

“You stay with me, Merlin,” Arthur told him at last when he noticed his manservant wavering in the face of his duty.

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin said at once, glad to have the issue settled for the moment.

Which meant Merlin followed Arthur and was invited to the first full banquet he had been asked to sit down for in his life.

Uriens had spared no expense: quite literally. They had changed into their finery just before approaching Gore and so were immediately ready to answer the summons to dine. Merlin’s formal shirt no longer itched about his wrists and collar, and he felt free to simply look in awe at the banquet hall.

It was much the same size as Camelot’s, only crammed full. The room was dominated by a gargantuan table straining under roast boar, goose, venison, lamb and pheasant. Meat from more animals than there were people to eat them! Merlin was astonished. Scattered around the meats were loaves of golden brown, cheeses, fruits and wineskins, leaving hardly any room for the diners to sit.

At the very head of the table sat King Uriens and to the side but one down sat his Queen: Kathryn. Queen Kathryn had her hands clasped in her lap, and her head bowed respectfully. Across the table from Kathryn was a young woman whose dark hair and wild green eyes clearly came from her: their daughter. 

Save for a few servants lingering discreetly around the edges and joints of the room, and Harold who had shown them in, Arthur and his three men were the only ones present. Nowhere near enough to cope with all this food.

“King Uriens. I thank you on behalf of my father – King Uther – for your gracious hospitality. We are most humbled by your generosity.”

Honour, humility, grace, hospitality. Merlin smiled. It had become something of a game to him to count how many instances of these words he found, and their related concepts. True: it was the language of diplomacy and Knightly behaviour, but still he had heard few who could so frequently and earnestly invoke them all.

“Not at all! Not at all. Please! Come sit with us. I have arranged for us to dine first, and then the lords and ladies of my kingdom to join us and hope to meet you. I would be delighted if you would choose to stay for the second part, but I understand it if you do not.”

Ah. Good. At least they weren’t meant to eat it all for themselves. Merlin would certainly have exploded, and probably Kay soon after. The man had a taste for everything: meat, drink, women. And his taste was not highly discriminating, he just liked large quantities of it. Frequently.

“I would love the chance to meet your nobles, my Lord,” Arthur replied, taking his offer of a seat that was held vacant between Uriens and Kathryn, their daughter who smiled demurely. 

Arthur nodded at Kay, Oswald and Merlin to sit and the took the cue: Oswald on the other side of Kathryn, Kay leaving a space for Merlin to sit next to Siobhan and kicking his ankle when Merlin panicked and tried to sit further away.

Merlin tried not to yelp in pain (a skill you learned around Knights, it seemed) and smiled nervously at the young woman and apologised as he sat down.

“May I introduce Sir Oswald, son of Sir Patrick of Chester; Sir Kay, son of Sir Kay of Somerset. And finally, Merlin of Ealdor.” 

“Well met, to you all,” Uriens replied, not commenting on Merlin’s sparse introduction, though Merlin could almost _hear_ the cogs whirring. “My good wife and companion, the Lady Kathryn.”

Kathryn smiled but kept her eyes down. Merlin tried to make eye contact with her to smile reassuringly but she was much too demure.

“And the light of both our lives… my daughter, Siobhan.”

Siobhan also had her head bowed, but even sitting beside her Merlin could tell she was less demure. It was strange to be around such passive women, when he was used to Morgana – Uther’s ward and Arthur’s adoptive sibling – who would snipe and bicker and even fight. Even Gwen – Morgana’s lady in waiting – she was no wallflower, for all she was a servant.

The princess was not shrinking like Kathryn was under there gazes, but even though she looked up at Arthur from under long lashes, it was a deliberate coyness and calculated moment of femininity and nothing like Morgana’s hard words or Gwen’s no-nonsense advice.

“You and your wife have every right to be proud,” Arthur told them.

“Indeed, if I was the harping type I am sure the Lady Siobhan would tempt me to verse,” Oswald cut in, so naturally that Merlin jumped and made the table rock slightly in his surprise.

“The Knight is too kind,” Siobhan insisted, blushing high in her cheeks. 

“Nay, my Knights are every true, fair Princess,” Arthur said at once. His voice was soft, soft like it had been about the Fey witch, which brought back several unpleasant memories all at once: cold water in his ears and a dead-weight Arthur in his arms. 

Not nice at all.

“Then ’tis a pity, fair Sir, for I am sure if you did tune your voice would be very fair,” Siobhan told Oswald, but it was Arthur she smiled most at.

“I will get my court bard in!” Uriens declared. “Harold! Fetch the bard!”

“Yes, my Liege,” Harold said at once, bowing and backing out through the door in a hurry.

“Until then, let us eat! I am of a mind to celebrate your long journey to visit us here, young Prince Arthur. Celebrate it indeed.”

Uriens was getting louder by the minute, and Merlin was surprised to see his wife… flinch. She caught him watching and looked worried, so Merlin shrugged and smiled, then scratched deliberately at his ear to cover that he was cupping it to mime that the noise was too loud.

She nodded once, then looked at Uriens’ wine goblet. Ah. That would be why.

Merlin attempted to express his sympathy for her even as she turned to watch her husband intently, as a dutiful wife should. Still, he thought she probably got the signal.

Unlike Arthur, who was alternately agreeing with Uriens as they both tucked into the vast array of meat before them, and smiling indulgently at Siobhan. 

Oswald was attempting to draw Kathryn into a conversation, too, which explained why he had sat alongside her: he was the most tactful and gracious of their group, though Arthur did try. It was difficult for the Prince, he knew, because he could not always be the soft, gentle, kind one. Too often he had to be the hard taskmaster, the law, the control.

And Kay couldn’t sit next to Siobhan in case she were unsettled or offended, of course. Not that Kay was an idiot enough to do anything. Not really. Merlin was just the last of the draw…

…not that it mattered, of course. Not with Siobhan having eyes for nothing but her father and the guest of honour.

“You should try the quail,” Kay told him, gesturing with a knife at the bird. Fortunately, Merlin’s knowledge of the birds on the table meant he could already identify it from a goose, but he supposed it was possible that the small bird carcasses could be multiple different small creatures so the gesture was appreciated.

“Thanks,” he told Kay, who looked just as unimpressed as Merlin felt (and hoped he showed less).

“No problem,” Kay replied, pulling another wing (Merlin assumed it was a wing) free. “Best part,” he said, waggling it under Merlin’s nose like it was flapping up and down. Merlin just blinked at it. Then at the bird.

He wasn’t even sure where to begin.

***

Merlin felt sticky. All of his fingers and his face felt like he’d been smearing himself with fat and grease and no amount of polite scrubbing at the table had been able to wash the feeling from his skin.

He was starting to get a better appreciation of why Arthur seemed to bathe every minute of every day, and why he always wanted more _napkins_. 

They’d eaten and eaten, and then the nobles had come in and they’d eaten some more because every time he stopped eating someone waved food at him, running their eyes up and down his slighter frame as they did so.

He almost wondered if Gore was fattening him up to be the slaughter, or something. He couldn’t understand the fascination with feeding him so much for any other reason.

There had been singing and fervent (sticky) handshakes and people confused by his lack of an introduction and Knighthood until he finally decided to lie – only a little – and tell everyone he was Arthur’s personal physician and not-quite manservant, which made a lot of people nod and smile and move away as soon as they could because he was less than they had hoped he was, somehow. And that was _with_ his little white lie.

Worse was when people started reeling off their medical complaints to him and asking him to fix them. Half of the complaints he prescribed leeches for, the others he mentioned concoctions he thought he’d seen Gaius mix up for other things and every once in a while he actually knew what to suggest and was scoffed at because it was the same advice the court’s physician had suggested.

Merlin grumbled as a fat wife of someone or other stormed off, angry for just that reason.

“Stupid old witch,” he mumbled under his breath. “Not _my_ fault if the warts are the kind that won’t drop off.”

A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder, making him jump. At first he thought it was Arthur and cringed, wondering how he could explain that it wasn’t… completely a lie, opening his mouth to start saying as much when he realised the heavy, slightly drunk-smelling person leaning on him was Kay, not Arthur.

“Mmmerlin!” he greeted, drunkenly effusive. “Mmmmerlin. What _have_ you been doing?”

“Uhm… little sausages?”

It was deliberate. Kay snorted loudly and put his mouth to Merlin’s ear to whisper. Well, he _tried_ to put his mouth there, but ended up sort of nosing him instead.

“And you didn’t invite me?” Kay asked, voice dropping low and sultry.

Merlin jumped as Kay brought his hand down on the young warlock’s backside and squeezed. Then he squeaked.

“Hahaha, oh, I was jus’ joking, Merlin. Joking. No sausages… little or otherwise.”

“You know, people will come to conclusions if they see you fondling Arthur’s manservant in public,” Merlin tried, sidling sideways, with the Knight drunkenly following, hip to hip.

“Don’t need me to think that. I mean, yes, need me to think it about _me_ but they all think we do it anyway. S’why it’s so funny. Why I make so many jokes. Makes them _nervous_ if you bring it… bring it…”

“To the open?” Oswald offered, appearing as ever out of nowhere and smiling at them both. His eyes were merry with drink, but he looked a damn sight more sober than Kay.

“Yes! You always know what I mean.” Kay beamed, and dropped his other arm over Oswald’s shoulder. 

“I think we should get you to your room before you sing the song about the wizard.”

Merlin tried not to jump. “Wizard?” he asked. Call it… slightly mead-induced insanity, but he was intrigued.

“WIZARD!” Kay bellowed and then burst out laughing. “I could sing the WIZARD song. Os! Os, you can be my counterpoint…”

“In your room, Kay, in your room.”

Several people were watching them now, and Kay noticed. “Oh. Making scene, aren’t I? Was Merlin’s fault. Sausages.”

“It most certainly was not!” Merlin protested.

“Kay, why don’t you sing the lovely song about the lady waiting for her Knight to return. The one that always makes Uther cry.”

“Ohhh, yes, yes, that song. I’ll sing that song.”

Although the song was indeed very sad – and the knowledge that it would reduce Uther to tears was… interesting – Merlin found himself secretly wishing that Kay would sing his wizard song.

Doubtless there would be other opportunities. If he and the brusque Knight hadn’t convinced Arthur that they should be on sentry duty from now on.

***

Merlin woke when a sock fell on his face. Actually, when he eventually stirred and blinked hazily into the room, it was possibly the third sock. Or the fourth. There was a little pile of them lying around his head like some bizarre woollen halo, and one was lying on his chest, peering up at him.

They were Arthur’s socks, of course.

Merlin brushed them unceremoniously off his nose, chest and ear and sat up. He immediately regretted it, and threw himself back down on the little camp bed with a groan.

“Merlin! Merlin, get _up_. I’m going riding with King Uriens and I need to be dressed.”

“M’not here,” he muttered.

“You are here, I can see you. Now unless you want me to go riding in my night-clothes and explain to the court of Gore _precisely_ why you have a bear’s sore head and couldn’t see straight enough to put my shirt on, I suggest you get up.”

Further protests resulted in more socks, and those socks had not been properly washed since they’d last been in a castle for more than a night, which meant they smelt quite ripely of eau d’Arthur. With his eyes mostly closed, Merlin staggered about the room and did a half-passable job of dressing the prince, then went back to his bed.

“Merlin.”

“…I dressed you, Sire!” he complained, whining slightly. The pitch was high enough to make his own ears shudder inside. And his stomach.

“Now do the same for yourself. You’re to come with me. Sir Kay will be in an even worse state than you and I need Sir Oswald to keep face here while we’re out.”

Merlin tried to process this but it was difficult. “…I don’t ride?”

“You do now. Remember who taught you.”

Frustrated, he slapped both hands to his face.

“And tidy up my socks, too.”

It was just lucky that Merlin was good at swearing under his breath.

***

By the time they were standing in the stables, Merlin had managed to drink plenty of water and get some porridge with the faintest hint of honey inside of him, the world was swimming marginally less and the sound of boots on gravel no longer made him want to weep.

The fact that he’d said a few surreptitious words over the porridge had probably helped. Arthur hadn’t needed his own breakfast charming, and Merlin felt only vaguely guilty for not being able to do the same for Kay. As Oswald had confided in Merlin that Kay did this several times a year even though he knew how awful he would feel come the morning, Merlin rationalised it as thinking Kay would have experience dealing with hangovers, and would be overly suspicious if he didn’t happen to have one this time.

Bane was snuffling curiously at him, and Merlin wondered if the horse could smell the magic on him. He patted her neck in what he hoped was a nice fashion and her nostrils flared noisily. 

“She’s a lovely mount,” one of Uriens’ men-at-arms told him. “Lucky for you her colouring is mixed.”

“Oh?”

The soldier traced a finger over the front of her face, down to the brown nose he always thought made her look like she’d been sniffling through the mud. “King Uriens prefers self-coloured mounts. Horses all the same colour. Not always easy to find a good temper and a colour in one beast. Her little nose probably saved her for you. I often find a mix of opposites works well.”

Bane whinnied and tossed her head, pawing the ground with one foot before sashaying to the side.

“Is she supposed to do that?”

The other man laughed. “Probably not. But it’s harmless. The only things you need to really worry about in a horse is if they spook, if they refuse to jump, or if they throw you. The rest is a case of taste and preference. My Lord prefers thoroughly docile mounts for his women, and ones who snort and bellow for himself. Yours has character.”

“Yes, she certainly does.”

Bane harrumphed in what Merlin could have sworn was a long-suffering sigh. Then she started nosing at the other man’s pockets, much to Merlin’s chagrin. He pulled at her bridle, scolding her.

“No, it’s fine… really. I keep spare,” he said, pulling out a handful of oats which Merlin’s horse ate in a heartbeat.

“So _that’s_ how you make them like you?” he asked, surprised he hadn’t thought of the same thing.

“That and respecting them. Treat a horse well and unless it’s a bad creature – horses have them sometimes too, just not as often as people – then as long as it hasn’t been made to fear people, it will learn to love you.”

Bane pranced from foot to foot, and Merlin laughed. She almost looked like she was dancing. “I think she agrees with you.”

“They usually do,” the soldier agreed.

Merlin reached up to scratch behind Bane’s ear, earning a nuzzle for his efforts. “I’ll bear it in mind. I’m Merl…” he turned back, but the other man was gone.

“Huh.”

He didn’t have long to think on it, though, because Arthur and Uriens strode out into the stable together. Two young stable-boys walked their mounts forwards, bowing furiously as the two royals took the reins.

“What ho! Time to show Prince Arthur how prosperous Gore is!” Uriens bellowed, before swinging into the saddle in a way that seemed at odds with his slightly portly stature.

Arthur followed suit, vaulting effortlessly atop of Pax, and a respectful moment after that the five men of Gore chosen to ride with them mounted too. Merlin grit his teeth and tried to do the same, and was surprised to feel Bane’s knees soften slightly to let him up. He patted her shoulder in gratitude.

At the head of the group, Arthur sat proud in his saddle with his red Pendragon cloak flowing gracefully behind onto his horse’s rump. “I am anxious to see these new irrigation methods you have implemented. Camelot is always looking for ways to improve the yield of her crops.”

“Who isn’t?” Uriens laughed, and his own black stallion stroked the ground like a bullock preparing to charge. Merlin was glad he wasn’t riding _that_ horse.

Between his knees, Bane shuddered in sympathy. Or, Merlin liked to think so.

“Ready?” Uriens asked, pulling his mount onto its back legs, following it down to the ground with ease.

Arthur didn’t follow his lead, interestingly. He stayed firmly on the ground and his horse showed nothing but patience. Bane took a step to the right.

“Yes. After…” Arthur didn’t get chance to finish, though, because a red-faced servant in Gore blue skittered in, head bowed and panting. 

“My… Lord… My Lord…”

“What is it, man?” Uriens demanded, looming down over the servant, walking his horse closer. “Why are you disturbing us.”

“My Lord… the Princess… gone!”

“WHAT?”

“Princess… someone heard screaming… lady in… lady in waiting hit over head… Princess… gone…”

The poor man was doubled over, hands on his knees from the exertion and also – Merlin suspected – from panic.

“ **WHAT**?” Uriens screamed, louder this time. His horse bucked below him, front hooves coming down to the left then to the right of the unfortunate serf. “WHERE IS SHE? WHO HAS TAKEN HER? WHAT IS GOING ON?”

“Saw… riders going to the woods… came as fast as I could, Sire… ran…”

“Where is the Captain of your Guard?” Arthur asked. “He should ride out at once.”

“My Seneschal is ill,” Uriens snapped, his face red. “And half of my men are out on a hunting party.”

“Summon your best riders and fighters, then,” Arthur insisted, his voice low and level. “Have them meet us here at once.”

“They _are_ here,” Uriens insisted, waving at the five mounted men around them.

“ _These_ are the best you have to offer?” Arthur asked. “Five?”

“They are out riding! Prince Arthur, please. I cannot leave my kingdom with no King…”

Arthur’s face darkened and Merlin could see he was not impressed. “Tell Sir Oswald and Sir Kay to join me as soon as they can. You stay here and I will take your men to retrieve your daughter.”

“Yes… yes. Anything. They will follow your command… just please, _bring my daughter home_ ,” Uriens pleaded.

“I will,” Arthur promised, then kicked his feet into Pax’s sides, spurring her into action. Merlin didn’t need to do the same to Bane, who immediately launched after the Prince’s horse, and the sound of hooves told him that the Gore soldiers were following close behind.

Merlin had never ridden a galloping horse before. He thought he had, but he realised that the brief spurt of speed Kay had urged Bane into in the past had been nothing like her top speed. Bane had her head down and her neck stretched, her long legs swallowing the ground below them like air, and Merlin had to clench hard with his knees and hold tightly to the front of the saddle just to stay in place. There was no room for steering, it was simply a case of not falling, trampled underfoot, or dragged across the ground. He had heard of both things happening to unlucky riders, and he was desperate not to duplicate their fates.

They ran headlong to the woods where the servant had indicated, and Merlin was aware of nothing but the animal below him, the dark smudge on the horizon getting steadily but slowly closer and the hammering of his heart in his chest. Who would steal a princess, he wondered? Why would anyone do such a thing? What were they caught up in now?

It took him rather a long time to realise that he couldn’t see any horses in front of them, and he was confused when Arthur and Pax slowed down to a canter, then to a trot, then to a stop. Arthur wheeled Pax around to look at them, his blond hair mussed and his cheeks pink from effort.

“There is no sign of them ahead,” he told them. “If we were going to gain on them, we would have done so by now. There is no point finding them on exhausted horses and being unable to confront them properly.”

Bane whirred in confusion, and Merlin found himself scritching through her mane in encouragement. She settled down at his touch, miraculously.

“What do you propose, Lord Arthur?”

“Who amongst you is the best tracker?” Arthur asked.

“Marcus,” someone replied.

“Aye, my Lord,” the one who was called Marcus replied.

“Can you track from horseback?”

“If they were going at speed, yes, My Lord. They would not have time to get so far ahead and cover their trail at once.”

“Good. You ride at the front and look for their signs. The rest of you follow behind and look for anything Marcus or I may miss.”

There was a cautious round of assent.

Arthur turned Pax to face the other way. “Names?” he insisted.

“Drake, my Lord.”

“Carr.”

“Miller.”

“Iowain.”

“Drake, Carr, Miller, you go with Marcus. Iowain and Merlin, you follow me,” Arthur instructed.

The responses came faster this time but Arthur didn’t wait for them, making out at an angle towards the woods: cutting a diagonal to cover the greatest approach.

Merlin and Bane followed just behind and Merlin looked at the grass below without really knowing what he was looking for. It was hard enough on foot looking for tracks, but from horseback it was even more awkward.

“Tell me, Ioawain. Is Gore usually so poorly defended?”

“N-no, my Lord. I… this has never happened before.”

“The kidnapping part or the undefended part?” Arthur asked, eyes never once lifting from the ground.

“Neither!”

“Alright.” Arthur did not sound convinced, however.

“Do you think… do you think we will find her, my Lord?”

“I do not know. Whoever took her fled far too fast for us to even catch sight of them, which makes me wonder just how long it was before we heard she was gone.”

Merlin had been thinking the same thing. “If anyone can find her, Iowain, it’s Arthur,” he offered, reassuringly.

“Your faith in me is touching, Merlin,” Arthur replied, drolly.

“But usually not misplaced.”

Arthur simply snorted.

***

They had spread out of shouting distance in their search before Merlin saw the other group waving madly at them. He had taken to regularly looking over his shoulder, because he was of little use looking for tracks. The one time he had thought he’d found something it turned out to be a curled adder which had tried to bite his horse’s leg. That had been no fun.

“Sire… Sire I think Marcus has found something.”

Arthur whirled at once, narrowing his eyes at the waving.

“So he has. Come, then,” he ordered reluctantly, urging Pax into a rapid canter.

It was easier to ride at this speed, now he knew how difficult a gallop was. After not falling off at that speed, Merlin felt a lot more confident in his ability to do the very basic aspects of Stay On Your Horse. He was even developing a fondness for the strange creature: they were both somewhat outsiders amongst their own kind, it seemed.

Marcus and his group had been slowly following the track rather than wait for them, so Arthur had had them ride to a little ahead of them so their paths would meet in the middle.

“My Lord… look…” 

Marcus pointed at the grass. Merlin peered at it, thinking it looked like grass. Possibly a bit wet and bent in places, but nothing that obviously screamed ‘lots of horses and a struggling Princess came this way’ to him. Maybe if he used magic it would tell a different story.

Arthur followed the damp grass a short way, then nodded his approval. “Well done, Marcus. I think you found them.”

Marcus blushed, but Arthur seemed not to notice – or if he did, not to care – and turned Pax’s head to follow the line.

“Now we follow them.”

This was a little obvious and redundant, of course, but Merlin was finding that soldiers seemed to like being told the obvious on a regular basis. Either that or they pretended they did to make Arthur feel better. Hard to tell.

The horses seemed to enjoy being made to go a little faster, though, which was something. Probably the crawl they’d been going at to look for tracks had bored them senseless. Now they got to walk apace: Arthur at the head, Merlin to his left and Marcus to the right. Arthur gestured them all to ride in a line, which seemed to make even the men feel better.

Merlin was still worrying about how they were going to _fight_ whoever had broken into Gore and stolen the Princess right out from under the kingdom’s nose. They were seven men strong, and one of them was Arthur… but one of them was Merlin and he’d already admitted to himself that the only use he ever was in battle was if he used his magic. Which would be bad. 

He’d hid it in Ealdor with Will’s help, but even Arthur wasn’t stupid enough to let it slide _twice_ , was he? And after his reaction to Will’s fake confession… the hope Merlin had harboured of being accepted had withered into nothing.

For all Arthur was the ‘other side’ to his coin… well. It was like that soldier had said about horses. Opposites worked very well together, but on a coin you could never see both faces at once: it was Prince or Magic. Not both at once.

“They are likely to be expecting us,” Arthur told them, before they were even close to the tree-line. “And they have the advantage over us, because they have something we don’t want harmed.”

Merlin felt the other men stir awkwardly. As pep-talks went, this was so far singularly uninspiring. In fact, it was kind of depressing.

“However: they do not know what to expect from Arthur of Camelot, and you all are fighting for Gore’s honour. We have that to _our_ advantage. We will ride in two-three-two. If possible, the lead two will peel off and attempt to surround them. If not possible, we will meet them face on.”

There was a brief pause, then Marcus took the opportunity. “Hear, hear!” he cried, thumping his chest. “For Gore!”

“For Gore!”

Arthur smiled. “Merlin,” he said lowly, not turning his head. “You’ll be in the middle of the three. Try not to get too hurt.”

“I’ll try, Sire. Believe me I will try.”

As they got closer, the group seamlessly followed Arthur’s instruction. Merlin saw the two on the edges of the group slowly fall back, and found himself behind Arthur and Pax and flanked by two men. Marcus rode at the front with Arthur, which no one seemed to question.

Merlin was surprised how easily they took Arthur’s command. Maybe it was just his tone? Or maybe they saw in him the future ruler he would be, and the current leader of men trained and drilled to perfection that he was now. 

Bane at first didn’t like being surrounded by strange horses and she tossed her head, whinnying in displeasure. Merlin hissed at her to be quiet and tugged on his reins and was surprised to find her obey.

They crossed into the trees and Merlin found to his dismay that he could only stay close to one of his two companions to begin with, and soon neither. The trees around them shepherded their horses further apart, never letting them get too close before separating them once more.

Merlin could hear the noises of other horses but the trees seemed to get closer and closer, darker and darker: dark tendrils snaking out like fingers and brushing his hair and his horse’s legs. Bane’s ears were flat to her skull and her nostrils flared, and Merlin was starting to share her panic.

“Easy girl… easy… almost there, keep going,” he told her softly.

Suddenly there was a flash of brown and red in front and a sound of breaking twigs: Arthur and Pax were immediately ahead. “Merlin, follow me. This is worse than I expected… I should have asked for single file.”

“Is it… normally this hard riding through trees?” Merlin asked, brushing leaves out of the way and resorting to a hand in front of his eyes to keep the wildlife at bay.

“ _Through_ trees, yes, but I was sure the land was more open than this.” The reply was gritted, and Arthur’s version of a massive admission of failure. Oh. It had to be bad.

“Maybe it had a good summer?” He couldn’t think of anything else.

“That or it’s… damn it, Merlin! RIDE!”

Merlin watched as Arthur kicked his horse’s sides hard, and Pax opened into a gallop. He fortunately didn’t have to be so cruel with Bane, because she freely took up the pace and bolted after the Prince.

The reason for Arthur’s sudden command was clear at once: as they started to go faster, Merlin could _feel_ the greenery resisting, feel the way that vines tightened in front of them and the ground became unpassable, reaching up around his horse’s legs. Bane vaulted from the ground with each pace, jumping high to avoid the suddenly treacherous copse.

What should he do? The words to various counter-spells jumbled through his mind, but he couldn’t know what to say without knowing… precisely _what_ was happening, why, and who was causing it. He contemplated running through every counter-invocation he knew but then Arthur might want to know what had happened if he did succeed. If it came to it… only if it…

As suddenly as the chase had started they were in a clearing, and Bane checked her pace at once, sending Merlin forwards in his saddle until he was wincing around the pommel, Pax ahead of them rearing and Arthur trying to stay astride.

When they both had control of their horses, Merlin could see how they were shying at the edge of a circle cut into the trees: bordered on all sides by large standing stones. Pax and Bane seemed unwilling to enter the circle properly, but the creeping vines that reached for their hooves and legs were making them equally as nervous and skittish.

“ _Druids_ ,” Arthur spat, and Merlin wondered if it was the same man who had saved the little boy Mordred, and brought him back to his people. Arthur was confusing at best.

“What do we do?” Merlin asked, realising it sounded stupid, but feeling uncomfortable sitting on an animal that was so clearly unhappy. “Aren’t… don’t the druids sort of… owe you?”

“What? Oh. The boy?” Arthur was having to deal with Pax arching onto her hind feet, then placing her front legs to one side, then arching and repeating to the other side. “Don’t you think the whole ‘killing of sacred animals’ undid any good grace I had, on top of ‘my father sent them running to the forests for their lives’?”

“…you have a point.”

“Merlin, I _always_ have a point.” Arthur yelled in frustration at his mount, who finally subsided and stood still with her head down, shuddering in fear. “Where is everyone?”

“The men of Gore are going home,” said a deep voice, from nowhere Merlin could identify.

“Who said that?” Arthur asked, the hand on his sword pulling it ringingly out of its sheath in one smooth gesture.

“No one you would understand, Princeling of Camelot.”

Not a good thing to say to the Crown Prince, Merlin thought with a wince. Not good at all.

“Show yourself!” Arthur challenged, turning in his saddle this way and that. Merlin couldn’t see who was speaking either, but it had that strange timbre and resonance that the dragon had, or… Mordred. _Magic_.

“You see me, Arthur Pendragon. I am all around, and you are in my temple.”

“We came for the Princess. Release us and tell us where she is, and I may yet spare your life.”

The voice laughed, low and long and sibilant, and Merlin realised the voice was coming from the _leaves_ , which stirred with every word. “The Princess is with the men, the ones who had a claim to her, not the ones with false hearts. She is back in the land of her father, back beyond the borders of my temple.”

“This? This ring of stones?” Arthur dropped from Pax’s back, holding his sword at once in both hands. “This is your temple?”

“This… and more, young Pendragon. So much more.”

“How can I trust you the Princess is safe?”

“You do not need to trust me. You asked, and I have answered. It is more courtesy than you would have done me, Pendragon.” The leaf-voice was rueful now. “Much more.”

“I do have to trust you, or better yet: see it with my own eyes. I came to return the Princess Siobhan to her parents and her kingdom, and here you block my path with witchery. Release us _now_.”

Every tree about them shook with mirth, Arthur spun on his heel trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound, but it came from everywhere, all at once.

“I think not, tiny mortal. You entered my grove with no care, no respect. You will stay within my temple until you learn some manners, or the wilderness eats you alive.”

“I WILL NOT STAY, I WILL CUT DOWN EVERY—”

A sharp, cold wind hit Merlin between the shoulderblades and even made Arthur stagger.

“I would destroy you where you stand, Pendragon. And be damned the old tales, the old ways, the future. I would rip the flesh from your bones and feed you to the rats, the badgers, the owls. But you have a mark of protection on you that stays your execution. It will not hold my hand forever. Oh no. I will keep you here until you falter and fail. And then I will eat you alive.”

The ground started to shake and Merlin flung himself over Bane’s neck, watching as a tunnel appeared in the dark green chaos. Bane wailed and shuddered, but she looked to Pax unwaveringly.

Arthur turned on his heel a few more times but their assailant was still invisible.

“Sire,” Merlin tried, pointing at the tunnel away from the circle, and what looked like the only way out.

Arthur vacillated for a moment longer then vaulted into the saddle: sword still held out. “Merlin, let’s go.”

Merlin did not need telling twice. Although it seemed stupid to follow a path created _for_ them by a voice that seemed to have no love whatsoever for Arthur, they had no choice. All other directions were literally blocked to them, and Merlin didn’t think it was a good idea to try and hack their way out with swords.

The further they ran, the better Merlin felt. He hadn’t noticed at the time, but near the circle he’d been aware of an immense power crowding his head. The further away they got, the more it shrank down until it was a persistent nag in the corner of his mind: something he could consider and appreciate, rather than something overwhelming his whole senses.

As they ran the tunnel got broader, the branches less violent. Merlin had totally lost his sense of direction, but he no longer had to pull himself in over his horse to avoid the wildlife. Eventually it seemed like the trees had receded to a normal distance and they slowed down. Bane pulled up alongside Pax, nudging the other mare’s muzzle and making piteous noises. 

Arthur just sat, staring forwards. Merlin waited for a moment before he started to get worried at the lack of movement. He cleared his throat, but Arthur didn’t flinch. He tried to get Bane to move but the horse was having none of it: not with Pax rubbing foreheads together with her.

Frustrated, Merlin clicked his fingers. Loudly. Arthur’s head snapped towards him, frowning.

“Uh… hello?”

“We’re lost,” Arthur said, simply.

“Uhm. Yes. We’re lost. In a forest. On our own.”

“I don’t know where we are.”

“That… is sort of what ‘lost’ means, Sire,” Merlin agreed. “So…”

Arthur slid from Pax’s saddle and landed simply. He pushed his sword blade-down into the grass. Put his hands on his hips and… stared.

Merlin watched in confusion, and then dismounted too. He hitched Bane’s reins around a nearby tree, and did the same to Pax. Pax seemed perfectly happy for him to do this and was back to talking in low, horsey snuffles with her companion.

Which left Merlin standing feeling like a fool, staring at Arthur’s back as he stared in turn into the trees, looking like a strange, living echo of the Black Knight at his vigil.

“Sire?”

Arthur didn’t respond. In fact, he hardly seemed to move at all to the point where Merlin worried in case Arthur _was_ somehow bewitched, killed and turned into a statue or… 

Merlin touched Arthur’s elbow gently, and jumped – startled – when Arthur turned to face him with a light chime of metal as his chainmail shirt turned with him. Merlin wished he, too, dressed lightly prepared for danger like Arthur seemed to. Arthur’s face was blank of all expression, schooled with an heir apparent’s years of study. It frightened Merlin even more.

“Sire. It’s just a forest. And it sounds like everyone else is okay.”

“Sounds like… Merlin, haven’t you learned yet? Magic lies. Magic tricks. Magic… is _evil_.”

That hurt worse than the first time they’d met. A lot worse. “Sire, it… it isn’t true.”

Arthur was in his face suddenly, his eyes angry and his nostrils flaring like he hoped to breathe fire, the dragon in his surname coming to the fore.

“Isn’t it? Magic has killed dozens of men: pestilences in the water, crops withering, gryphons eating villagers… how can you _possibly_ think otherwise? How?”

“The… the unicorn! How can you think the unicorn was evil?”

“It. Starved. My. People. Almost to _death_. Or do you forget the rat?”

“It only did that because you _killed_ it.”

“I was hunting!”

“Well… it was just… _being_! Why can’t you leave magic alone?”

“Why? Because it doesn’t leave _me_ or my people alone! That’s why.” Arthur jabbed a finger into Merlin’s chest. “It attacks, over and over. It ambushes good men who were only trying to help a stupid King who lost his Princess. That’s why.” Another finger. “We’re lost in a forest that wants to kill us, and we don’t know who has done it, and I don’t know how to fight it. **That’s** why.”

Merlin grabbed the finger this time and kept hold of it, even when Arthur’s expression darkened horribly, reminding Merlin whose son this was. Oh there was no question they were related.

“Maybe you’ve frightened all the good magic away. Maybe… just maybe… there are people and things that would help you, but they won’t because they’re afraid you’ll have them killed.”

“This is about Will, isn’t it?”

“What? What? No! This… no!”

Arthur pulled his finger from Merlin’s grip and looked… thoughtful.

“I know he was your friend, Merlin. I… also know he did good things. For Ealdor. For… me.”

The memory of Will hurt. A lot. Merlin felt dizzy suddenly as the realisation he would never see Will again dawned on him once more. Every time he remembered, it hurt. It only didn’t hurt when he forgot it was how things were, now. No Will. Not ever.

“He… he was a good man,” Merlin struggled.

“Yes. Yes… he was.”

“So…”

“Merlin, I don’t know. Maybe… maybe if someone never uses their magic. The power is too great. Think of what you could do with magic… all the possibilities. It… it is not fair.”

“People could say the same thing about kings.”

Arthur looked shocked. His brows arched up to his hairline. “Merlin. You do realise what you just said was…?”

“Treason?” he supplied. “…yes. But. Think of it, Sire. Warlocks and sorcerers have similar powers to royalty. And they could choose to use them for… good or evil, just like a kng could. And… and what if they had no choice? What if it wasn’t their… decision to have this power? What…. What if they were _born_ that way?”

Arthur seemed not to have considered this possibility. “Is this about the druid boy?”

Merlin laughed. “Why not. Okay: the druid boy. How can he be old enough to know what’s right and wrong? What if that’s all he’d ever known?”

Arthur glanced his hand over the hilt of his sword, still pushed into the wet grass. “I don’t know, Merlin. I don’t know.”

Merlin didn’t either. “I’m… I’m sorry, Sire.”

“No… no. You have reason. Your good friend, and the boy… I can see how things would be difficult for you to understand.”

“Will you execute everyone magical when you’re King?”

“You forget, Merlin: half the problem with warlocks is no prison would hold them. And banishment simply makes them… bitter.”

“…oh.”

“Yes: oh. I don’t know. I would like to think not, but… I am not King yet. And for the life of me I haven’t found a better solution than my father’s yet.”

“…a magical prison?”

Arthur laughed. “What, pay an enchanter to lock up his own kind? Merlin… sometimes the lows you will stoop to amaze me.”

“It was just a suggestion.” He shrugged. “I don’t know either.”

“Although a trained warlock might be useful… if he didn’t want to rise up and take Camelot from me.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d want less, Sire.”

“Well, you aren’t a powerful warlock, Merlin. You’re just my manservant.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“My manservant stuck in an enchanted forest with me.”

Oh yes. Merlin looked around. “So what do you want to do now, Sire?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and looked around, eyeing the whole vista. Then he looked up, squinting into the green light filtering through the leaves. “I think… we need to head in that direction to escape.”

“You think we even can? The voice said…”

“I know what the voice said. But we should go in the direction of ‘out’ anyway. And if that doesn’t work, we go back to the circle and smash all his precious stones until he will fight me.”

“…and that’s showing proper respect… how?”

“I don’t respect people who bully. I don’t respect people who won’t insult me to my face. If the voice wants my respect, it will have to _earn_ it.”

“Ah. Yes, Sire.”

“Now… break off a big branch, or look about for one. I want you to drag it through the ground and make a mark of where we’ve been so we don’t cover the same ground twice.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Now come on… we won’t get out of here standing about and talking like a bunch of girls.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. He was fairly sure Morgana and Gwen would be half way to escaping by now. “As you say.”

***

“Are you _sure_ you’re pressing down with that?”

“I am! I broke two sticks already. I could break this one as well and we could have another long pause where I find another one and you call me some more names if it would make you feel happier.”

“Now you’re being facetious.”

“I am not!”

“Do you even know what that word means?”

“Yes, and it isn’t me.” The branch broke. Merlin swore and threw it down, making Bane whicker in protest. 

“Alright, you can stop doing that. If we are up against magic anyway, it likely won’t do any good. I’m navigating using the sun… what little of it there is.”

It was beginning to get darker, and the shadows were longer and faint. “I wish you’d thought of that sooner.”

“I thought it might help a little. And I also thought it might help you keep occupied and think you were doing something useful.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Let’s stop and check our supplies. I want to know how long we have before we need to worry.”

Merlin pulled Bane to a halt (or pulled and she stopped when Pax did, it was the same end result). “Supplies?”

“I always make sure there’s something in the saddlebags. Preparation is everything.”

Merlin hadn’t known that, yet, but then this was the first time they’d really had an emergency out on horseback. But it fit with the armour-wearing Prince of caution. Merlin turned to investigate the small bags at the back of the saddle and was surprised to find a small amount of oats, a wrap of dried meat, a sausage and two bottles of water.

“Wow… you really do prepare, don’t you?”

“It’s why I’m still alive, Merlin. I have the same as you do. Good. I was worried the stable boy would have skimped. I didn’t have time to check before we set off for the Princess.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Well, I want you to listen for water from now on. We do have some in the bottles, but not enough to last us forever. We’ll be able to get some fluids from fruit, if we find any. So look for apples, pears, berries… anything you think might help.”

“Okay.” Merlin couldn’t help thinking of the book of magic Gaius had given him. Dowsing for water would probably be much more successful. “And other than that?”

“We’ll ride for another hour at most, and then we’ll start making camp. I want to turn in a little early because I don’t think it’s safe for us both to sleep together. We’ll do it in watches.”

Merlin hated watches. He usually fell asleep on them anyway. He winced and tried not to let it show. “Sounds like a plan.”

“I’ll teach you to survive yet. Honestly, Merlin. You’d think you’d be better at coping with the rough than this: I thought you didn’t have a bed and grew up surrounded by chickens.”

“We didn’t have many chickens in Ealdor.”

“It was a figure of speech, Merlin. Never mind. Let’s see how much more lost we can get before I show you how to make a real camping bed.”

Merlin did try to smile, but it wasn’t easy.

***

When he woke, he was alone. He felt it immediately, even before he glanced around outside the small den Arthur had made for them. The fire had died down to little more than embers, and Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

Merlin crawled out to the forest floor on his hands and knees, shivering with the cold. He wasn’t sure what had woken him, but it had felt… not threatening. Just… present. Like a friend sitting in the corner of the room, busy with something but still there. He squinted into the darkness but didn’t see anything amiss. Just… the lack of Arthur.

“Arthur… Arthur?” he whispered, wincing as little pine needles dug into his palms. He shuffled his feet underneath him and sat with his knees in his chest, arms wrapped around them. “Arthur?”

There was no reply, nor any sign that Merlin could follow to find what direction he’d gone off in. Pax and Bane were sleeping curled up together just beside the little branch-covered sleeping hole Merlin had just dragged himself from. The warlock huddled closer to the fire and prodded it with a branch to get some more life from it, but he didn’t have the skill with nature that Arthur did.

He was cold. Merlin glanced about furtively, then mumbled a few words under his breath. The tip of the branch he was prodding into the fire flared brightly with magic and then started to burn steadily and contently, so Merlin let go of it and leaned towards the fire for warmth, confident his little trick had gone unnoticed.

Because Arthur was still nowhere to be seen. Nowhere. He peered into the dark, wondering what he was going to do. He couldn’t go looking for him, not at night. He would likely wander off in the wrong direction, and Arthur would come back here to find Merlin missing and go wandering off and… just, no. 

Then there was the matter of the horses: Should he take both so when he found and rescued Arthur the prince would thank him heartily? That would risk Arthur finding the camp and Merlin and both horses gone, with no supplies for himself and no chance of catching up.

Alternatively, he could leave Pax behind so Arthur could find his horse and have as much chance of escaping as Merlin did… and risk the poor beast being left alone and riderless in a possibly evil and enchanted forest, and Arthur flaying him alive for losing his favourite mount? No. It was best for everyone if he stayed here: at least until morning.

He was just rubbing his fingers and considering adding more wood to the fire to keep him from dying from exposure when there was a soft rustle of leaves to the right. Merlin cursed the fact he’d left his sword so far away and lunged for it, pointing it straight to the rustle which parted to reveal Arthur. Merlin laughed.

“Arthur! There you are. Where the hell have you been?”

Arthur looked bemused, staring down at Merlin’s over-stretched sword arm and teeth-chattering cold self. He was moving slowly – as though in a dream – and he just smiled. “I heard something, Merlin. I’m sorry I startled you.”

“Startled me? I thought… I thought you were eaten by bears or something.”

“Wolves would be more likely.”

“Bears, wolves… something!”

Arthur put a hand on Merlin’s blade and pushed it gently down. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I… heard something and I went to look. I shouldn’t have left the campsite, I know. I won’t do it again.”

The young Prince was utterly calm, and Merlin found it unnerving. He stared into Arthur’s eyes, trying to find evidence of another enchantment. That was the last time he’d seen Arthur so subdued, although admittedly that time he hadn’t been quite so… peaceful-looking as he was now. 

“Did you find it?”

“Find what, Merlin?”

“Whatever made the noise?”

“It was nothing. Probably just… the wind.”

“The wind. Okay.”

“Go back to bed, Merlin. It’s not long before dawn now, and we’ll need our strength for the morning.”

“I think it’s my turn to watch, Sire.”

“I know. But I’m more used to this than you, so it’s alright.”

“I’m really awake now, though, so I think I’ll stay up.”

“Alright. If you insist.” Arthur clapped him on the arm. “Thanks.”

“Uh… it’s nothing.”

Arthur smiled knowingly, and ducked into the little shelter.

Merlin was thoroughly unnerved.

***

In the morning Arthur seemed back to his normal, belligerent self. Merlin was relieved when Arthur snapped at him and told him to try ‘harder’ to find water. And to pay attention to which way things… went when he relieved himself. Apparently this would tell them the way the land lay and give them an indication of the lowest point, and the likeliest place to find water above ground.

Merlin lied and told Arthur it was inconclusive, even though each and every time he watched, and things unerringly flowed… back the way they had come. Arthur probably noticed the same thing.

Eventually, Merlin got tired of sips of stale water from skins and (under the pretence of relieving himself urgently) hunted out a suitable stick he could hold in two hands and still have a point that ran horizontal to the ground. A dowsing stick, divining rod, call it what you wanted.

He closed his eyes and muttered what he remembered from the book, and closed his eyes. He felt no different, but he took a cautious step forwards. There was no overwhelming urge to veer off in any direction, or even stay on course. He took a few more steps to yet more lack of feeling, opened his eyes and lifted his hand to throw the rod down in frustration. “Usele— aaah!”

A hand reached around him and grabbed the rod and crushed his fingers painfully around it. A heartbeat later there was a warm chest against his back, and Merlin realised Arthur had somehow sneaked up on him.

“Merlin.”

“Uhm. Yes? Sire?”

“You’re going to explain what you were doing, now. And it’s going to sound sensible, rational, and not like you were idiotic enough to try some stupid, worthless magic trick. Aren’t you, Merlin?”

“I… was making a… uh… post to hitch the horses to? It… you push the two prongs down in the ground and…”

“I said ‘sensible and rational’, Merlin. Not nonsense.” Arthur squeezed harder and Merlin spasmed, letting go of the rod. Arthur caught it, and held it out like a sword, sighting down the length of it like a sword. 

Merlin cringed and turned to look at Arthur. “Sorry. I… we had no water. It… it was something I heard about, once. And… I didn’t think it could hurt…”

“The first steps to evil rarely hurt,” Arthur told him, sounding vaguely like he was echoing a lesson learned long ago. “A little divination, a little blessing on a crop, a little hex on someone’s herd…”

“Us dying of dehydration is a little different than hexing cows, Sire.”

“So you say. That is, if it even works…” Arthur held the stick out, loosely in his hands. He closed his eyes. “Probably wise women look for water, gold, whatever beforehand and then use the ‘magic’ rod to find what they already knew was there… watch.”

Arthur took a few paces, clearly bored. 

“Then it won’t do any harm, will it?” Merlin asked.

Suddenly the pointed end of the Y-branch jerked down, at about a forty-five degree angle. Merlin jumped, but then realised Arthur was probably teasing. “Ha. Very funny, Sire.”

But there was a crease between Arthur’s brows, and a deeply confused expression on his face. Not beyond him to fake, but Merlin was worried.

“I didn’t… it… did it on its own…” He took a step forwards, and then seemed to be struggling to even hold his ground.

“Arthur? Arthur you’re starting to worry me.”

Arthur’s boots were cutting furrows into the soil below. He was being dragged inexorably forwards, even though he was leaning back from the waist and trying to fight the pull. “I’m not doing this! Harmless, he says! LOOK at it!”

The stick was still pulling hard, against all of Arthur’s grunting, struggling efforts to resist it. “Let go, Sire!”

“I… can’t! I… oh no…”

Arthur’s feet met a particularly slippery patch of mud, and suddenly he was tearing along after the stick at a breakneck pace. Merlin ran to follow, and then even the horses were in pursuit. Merlin jumped on Bane and the two mounts had to run full out for a good minute or two before Arthur ground to a halt: stick pointing straight…

Oh. Down. Into a small trickle of clear water: the beginning of a tiny stream. Merlin was shocked. Apparently, so was Arthur.

The Prince threw the stick down in disgust, and stared down at the water accusingly. Then up at Merlin, who shrugged non-committally. 

“Do you seriously expect me to think _that_ ,” he pointed at the stick which was now in the trickle, “isn’t evil?”

“It found water, Sire. In fact, it found it a lot more vigorously than I’ve heard it’s supposed to.”

“Precisely! Evil water?”

“Evil… what?”

“Evil. Water. Enchanted. We’ll turn into swine, or fall asleep and our bodies will be overrun by elves.”

Merlin shook his head. “No… just water.”

“I’m not drinking it.”

“And any other water you find you will trust more… because?”

“Because I didn’t find it with a magic twig.”

“Fine. I’ll drink it.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will! I’m thirsty!”

“There is still water in the skins.”

“And how much longer will that last? We’ve been riding for two days now and in your direction of ‘out’. We didn’t ride _in_ for two days, so clearly we’re going wrong. But changing direction now might mean we turn back from the edge mere minutes away… so we won’t do that either.”

“I’ll find the way out.”

“And if you don’t?”

“If I don’t… then we’ll drink the water.”

Merlin sighed. “Fine.” He fished out his two water skins, and then the two from Pax’s bags.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not wasting the water. I’ll pour all the ‘good’ water into one skin, and then we can put the ‘magic’ water in the other three. Then when we run out we’ll have it to hand.”

“…fine.” Merlin could see Arthur was secretly impressed by his logic, but he chose not to push the point any further. “We’ll follow the stream. It might not be a straight line but if this place follows any laws at all, it won’t lead us in an impossible circle: we’ll find the way out.”

“Great. Perfect. A plan.”

“Stop being so negative and get those skins done. I’m going to have to find some game if you want to stay alive.”

“Right. I’ll do that then.”

“Do.”

***

The second night was no better than the first. Again something distant woke him, but it wasn’t like the feeling of intense power the Mage’s Stone had given him. This wasn’t a rude awakening, but a feeling of being gently pulled from his sleep.

By the time he stuck his head out of the little shelter Arthur was walking back to his place by the fire. Merlin was now convinced Arthur was bewitched, so he crawled up to sit beside him, bringing his blanket with him.

“…Arthur?”

Arthur wouldn’t meet his eyes. Merlin grabbed an arm and shook. “Arthur?”

“It’s the unicorn,” Arthur said, apropos of nothing. He was staring into the fire, his hands between his knees and showing no signs of feeling the chill in the air.

“The unicorn? What do you mean?”

Arthur turned to look at Merlin then, and Merlin was relieved to see nothing red behind his eyes. “I saw it. Her. I think it’s a mare. Do you even call unicorns mares?”

“I’m not sure. But back up a moment, you… saw her? Here?”

Arthur nodded, then turned back to the fire. The shadows of the night played heavily on his cheeks, and seemed to war with the flickering light from the flames. “I saw her. I’m sure it’s the same one… it has to be. How many are there? There can’t be many left.”

“No… probably not. It could be the same one. Is… are you feeling okay?”

“Do you think she forgives me?” Arthur asked. “Or… or is that why we can’t escape? I thought… I thought we sorted this…”

“You saw her come back to life, just like me, Sire. I think… she forgives you.”

“Then why does she come every night to see me? She doesn’t come to you?”

“No.” But that explains the feeling of power: of harmless, well-intentioned power, Merlin thought to himself. “No… not to me. She must want to see you.”

“But why me?” Arthur asked, sounding suddenly pained. “You know my father… you know who I must be. I tried to tell her… tried to tell her I couldn’t have magic in my kingdom. Tried to tell her just… to leave…”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to leave?”

Arthur laughed. “I don’t see why not. I killed her once, doesn’t she worry I’ll do it again?”

“Will you?”

Arthur didn’t reply to that, but Merlin felt sure in his heart the answer would be a resounding: no. If only Arthur could admit it.

“Why does she follow me, Merlin? Why?”

“Maybe she wants to… help you? Have you thought of that?”

“Help me?”

“Maybe… just maybe she wants to show you the way out?”

Arthur tilted his head back, exposing his throat, and let out a long, drawn-out breath. “Of course… she wants me gone. Here I am, asking her to leave me alone… and she wants me out of her land. It makes perfect sense, now, Merlin.”

“That… isn’t what I meant,” he argued, but weakly.

“But I’m sure it’s what she means. Tomorrow, when she comes I will wake you. We’ll saddle the horses and follow her.”

“If… if you think that’s wise.”

“Maybe not saddle them. Maybe just bring them… maybe she thinks human riding horses is offensive.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Merlin admitted.

“No, me either.”

***

The morning did not go too easily. It started off well because Merlin almost walked into a nest of birds’ eggs. Fortunately Arthur stopped him before he stood on one and ended up with yolk all over his boots, and then he decided to cook them for breakfast. Merlin was grateful for this because they’d eaten nothing but cereal, a few strips of dried meat and a very small selection of fruit for the past… however long they’d been stuck in this place.

But of course it led to an argument.

“I thought we were supposed to be showing how much we respected the forest,” Merlin asked, grumpily setting the pan up over the fire to boil the eggs.

“Yes. We are. But I’m not starving to death… you eat meat and eggs in Camelot, don’t you?”

“Well… yes.”

“And in Ealdor?”

“Not as often, but… Arthur it’s not the same when you’re—”

Arthur didn’t let him finish. “The mother isn’t even here. Eggs get cold if they’re left too long. Even if it _was_ wrong of us to eat eggs in here compared to at home? These ones won’t grow into little… whatevers… any more. They’re cold.”

Merlin hadn’t thought of that. He blamed it on the lack of sleep, and wondered if Arthur would be big enough to just let his silence and the whole topic slide. Arthur did, but only because he caught Merlin doing something worse.

“What are you doing? That’s the last of the good water!”

Merlin looked down and wondered how Arthur could tell.

“…it will cool!”

“Eventually! But not until you’ve boiled lots of it off!”

“But if the other water is bad then you won’t want to eat anything cooked in it?”

“Now you’re just being difficult,” Arthur accused.

Merlin was tired, he hadn’t washed in days and this was the final straw. “Alright then, I’ll drink the water and if it’s poisoned you’ll know soon enough.”

Arthur actually looked murderous. “Do you remember what happened the last time you did that for me?” he asked, his voice low and intent.

“Yes,” Merlin replied, opening up one of the skins. He poured it out onto the grass and watched in case it bubbled or burnt or something.

“What are you doing?”

“If I’m going to drink it, I’m drinking cold water. It’s nicer,” he told him, dropping to a crouch.

“Don’t you think it’s my turn to drink it?”

“No. You drank the poison in the labyrinth.”

“Exactly: and I wasn’t poisoned. But when you drank poison you were. So you should give it to me.”

“That was the unicorn too! So maybe unicorn poisons are fine. And it’s my turn.”

The skin was full now, he could feel it. Merlin tried to lift it to his lips but suddenly he was bowled over by a flying Arthur Pendragon. “What?!”

Merlin was pinned face-down to the ground, a heavy, dead weight pressing him into the muddy bank of the stream. Now he was even messier, and angry. With an arm twisted behind his back. Merlin tried to stretch the hand with the skin out, but Arthur was clawing at his sleeve and trying to drag the skin to his mouth.

“Let… **go** , Merlin… I’m going to drink it…”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“Let go!”

“No!”

“Merlin… for the love of chivalry, let go and let… me… drink!”

The pain in his wrist and shoulder was intense, and the irony of being held down in this position again by Arthur was not lost on him. He kicked with his feet, spinning towards Arthur to alleviate the pressure. The skin was now thoroughly covered in mud and Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted it in his mouth now. He was whimpering in pain and glad no one was around to see them making asses of themselves. So glad.

Arthur somehow managed to pull Merlin’s hand in closer, though, and then he was applying force to Merlin’s knuckles until they spasmed and he let go involuntarily. “Sire!”

“You’ve been a martyr enough for me, Merlin,” Arthur told him, and he wiped the worst of the mud from the bottle and splashed what was left in the direction of his mouth. Some of it fell on Merlin’s neck and he jumped.

Merlin was trying very, _very_ hard not to reel off a list of what precisely he thought of Arthur’s behaviour, but a sudden worry hit him that… well. It _could_ be poison. Arthur had gone very still and Merlin had horrible images of his Prince dying on top of him and…

“…Sire?”

“Shh.”

Not… immediately dead then. Merlin wriggled until Arthur let go of his wrist, and then rolled over onto his back to stare up at him. Arthur looked… confused. Like he was concentrating on hearing something slightly too quiet, or working out what a faint smell reminded him of. 

Merlin reached up and put his fingers on Arthur’s throat, where Gaius had shown him you could check a man’s heartbeat. Arthur batted his hand away, but not before Merlin left two little muddy brown smudges on his neck. “How do you feel, Sire?”

“Not immediately dead.”

Merlin wondered how long they would have to wait: him on his back, Arthur now straddling him and peering off into the middle distance. Merlin didn’t dare move, even though the eggs were by now probably boiling dry.

“You look… alive to me,” he said, eventually. “I think. Do you feel… different? Hot? Cold?” Not that he knew enough physiology to do much if Arthur did, except tell him to drink more if he was hot, or wear a blanket if he was cold. And drinking more if the water made him hot in the first place was a really bad idea, so he hoped Arthur didn’t feel that.

“Hungry.”

“Hungry?”

“Eggs, Merlin. After all this trouble, they better be good eggs.”

“Oh… right.”

Arthur decided to stand up now, which meant Merlin could scramble up too. Just as Arthur hadn’t mentioned his silly mistake with the eggs, Merlin decided it was only big of him to let Arthur’s worry over the water problem slide too. That way both of them could keep their pride intact… or as intact as it could be when you’d just rolled around in the mud over nothing. Maybe now Arthur would let him wash himself – and their clothes.

The eggs were slightly over-cooked if anything, and Merlin missed having bread with them. But it was better than starving – and better than yet more porridge – so he ate them without complaining. Arthur also didn’t complain but Merlin could see the way he set his lips and tried to look distant and not disgusted, which made Merlin snigger to himself. He was not the best cook in the world, but neither was the Prince.

“Did you like her?” Merlin asked, when the silence got a little too long for comfort.

“…what?” Arthur looked at Merlin like he was insane.

“The Princess. Siobhan or whatever. Did you like her?”

“Why are you asking me that, Merlin? Any reason for the current inanity?”

Merlin didn’t rise to the bait, though. He was feeling relieved that they could drink cold water again – and get clean! – and the full, warm feeling in his belly had made up from the strange crawling through the mud. “I asked because I was trying to understand why we were here, and it’s because we came out to save her from whoever kidnapped her. And I wondered if it was a coincidence.”

Arthur smiled wanly. “I wondered that too. It seemed very convenient that we ended up stuck in this forest without Kay and Oswald. But I would have ridden out to save anyone who had been kidnapped, whether I liked them or not.”

“So… that means you don’t but you won’t say it because it’s rude?”

“Merlin! Shut up.”

“Or… you _do_ like her but you’re too embarrassed to tell me?”

“I met her the night before, Merlin. At a banquet. It’s not exactly the best place to get to know someone. I don’t like her and I don’t dislike her.”

Arthur was prodding the stones around their little fire with one foot. Merlin found himself watching.

“Well… that’s sensible, I suppose. It really was too short a time to get to know someone. Especially if you’re thinking… well. Of marriage.”

Arthur did not look up. “I probably won’t get much say in it, in the end.”

“…huh?”

The Prince straightened, shrugged. “Come on, Merlin, you had to realise that. I will be free for a while yet, but eventually there’ll come a time and I won’t be able to say yea or nay. It’s part of what being the Prince is.”

“But… but I thought…”

“You thought because I’m the Prince, I have the pick of everyone? Most people do. But I don’t. Even if it isn’t love… I may well have to marry the right person for Camelot. I…”

“You can tell me,” Merlin said, gently. “I’m not going to tell the King, or anything.”

“It’s nothing. I was just going to say it would be nice to marry for love, to find the ‘right’ person… I’m just not holding my breath.”

“I think your father loved your mother. So… it does. Sometimes.”

“He never talks about her.” Arthur’s voice was tinged with… sorrow. 

“I know. But Gaius does, sometimes. He says she was beautiful, a real Queen. He says…”

“That’s in the past now, Merlin. Now come on. We should get some walking done while there is still light.”

Merlin sighed and started packing things away, rinsing the bowls and the plates. “We don’t have to talk about her. I just… thought you might want to know. Gaius knew her, and it must have been hard for you.”

“As hard as it was for you?” Arthur asked, a little sharply.

“…my father?”

“Well, I met your mother. But not your father. So logic would say I was talking about him and not her.”

“…I… well, it’s different. I grew up in a village. There were always other people around, and lots of children without parents.”

“It’s the same in a castle, Merlin. Camelot is no different to Ealdor. I never knew her, so there’s nothing I miss. And my father has expressly forbidden… just… let’s leave the subject. Alright?”

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin mumbled, a little confused. “I didn’t mean any offence.”

“None taken. Now come on, before I’m offended by your laziness.”

“At once,” Merlin sighed.

He deliberately kept their discussion lighter from then on.

***

Merlin couldn’t sleep that night. Arthur kept shooing him into the little dug out he’d made and covered with branches to keep out the wind, but Merlin got tired of lying on the cold ground, watching his breath form into little mist-clouds and float into nothing. He was cold, bored and lonely. And anxious.

Arthur had seen a unicorn. Twice. Merlin was sure it was _something_ magical, because he’d felt the power on both occasions. But it could always be something pretending to be a unicorn, or… well, Merlin wasn’t too sure, really. For all he had the most experience of anyone save maybe Uther and Gaius of magical creatures and problems… he didn’t know nearly enough.

He crawled out into the sharp night air for a fourth time and was surprised to see Arthur rising from the fire-side, his hands drifting loosely to his sides. In the pale moonlight, Merlin could see Arthur’s golden hair glowing like a halo, in marked contrast to the pale silver of the creature just beyond.

If the unicorn back by Camelot had been stunningly beautiful, this one was so heartbreaking that Merlin’s knees gave way and he could barely stand. The beast stood a few hands taller at the shoulder even than Pax: a soft, shining silver haze seemed to surround it, making it appear even bigger. The mane was unruly but not tangled or caught with branches and leaves, a curl of bright hair that tumbled like water falling. She was like the moon to Arthur’s sun, and her single horn stood proud and radiant on her brow, like a crown.

It was not the same creature they had seen by Camelot. This one seemed older and more powerful, and Merlin could see why Arthur was captivated, following her without ever once looking back.

Weirdly, Merlin wasn’t hurt by that, because he could understand. He felt drawn too – albeit somewhat guiltily, because the unicorn hadn’t come for him – and he unhitched the two horses, pulling their reins gently to get them to stir before he followed Arthur and the unicorn from a distance to see what was happening. All Merlin could sense from the creature was good, and if it was deceit – or camouflage – then it was a stronger magic than he’d ever known to hide itself so completely.

Arthur walked as though in a dream, moving through the trees like the unicorn did, simply leaning out of the way and passing by with hardly a ruffled leaf, his feet padding softly. Merlin struggled to follow as quietly – the two horses confused but not apparently alarmed by the midnight stroll – but the unicorn did not once look back at him. Suddenly the trees opened up, much as they had when they found the stone circle. There were no standing stones here, though: in the centre of the clearing there was a pool of clear water. Nothing marked the surface: no lily-pads, no fallen wildlife or insects skirting the surface. There was a quiet chirr of what could be crickets, but Merlin wasn’t sure.

The unicorn walked to the side of the pool, then bowed one front leg. Her nose snuffled just above the water, making it ripple gently. Arthur carried on walking until he was within reach of her, then he too bent one knee. For the first time he looked away from the creature, into the water. Merlin craned to see from behind the tree he was using for cover, and the sound startled Arthur. The Prince turned and looked in his direction immediately.

“Merlin?”

“Sire… you asked me to follow you and the unicorn.”

This made Arthur’s head snap around, and Merlin realised that Arthur had indeed been in some kind of trance. When he saw how close the unicorn was, he flailed and nearly fell on his backside. “…heavens above!”

“Shh… I think it’s still… happy to see us,” Merlin told him in a low, urgent voice. “She must have heard me following, but she didn’t run away.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know… what were you doing? That seemed to be working.”

“I don’t remember. I… I must have been under some sort of spell. Merlin… it’s _looking_ at me.”

The disgusted, frightened tone made Merlin laugh. “You’re looking at it, Sire. It’s probably just as confused by you as you are by it.”

The unicorn rose, and paced a few steps closer to Arthur, until its legs were almost brushing the Prince. It whickered softly, then lowered its head and… snuffled over Arthur’s hair.

“Merlin!” Arthur whispered, loud and alarmed.

“…I think she likes you. Uh. Maybe you should treat her like a horse?”

“What, offer her oats and muck her out?”

“Since when did you muck your own horse out?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Look…” Merlin took a few steps out into the open, leading Pax and Bane. The unicorn lifted her head curiously. “You thought the unicorn would lead us out of here. Maybe you should… ask?”

“Ask?” Arthur stood up abruptly, and the unicorn reared in alarm. “Whoa!” Arthur put his hands up, backing slowly away. “Whoa girl.”

The unicorn came back onto all fours, but snorted in impatience and shook her mane. 

“Unicorn… we’re sorry we trespassed on your land, but we’d be forever in your debt if you’d show us the way out,” Merlin tried.

The creature snapped its head in Merlin’s direction and stared.

“What are you doing?”

“Talking to her. What does it look like?”

“I’m not sure when it comes to you. But it doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Well, she came to you. Maybe you’re supposed to ask?”

“I’m not asking a magical creature to…”

The unicorn reared again, neighed loudly and then pawed the ground when she landed.

“Maybe you should…” Merlin started, but Arthur was already on it.

“I’m… sorry. What Merlin said was true. We would… be grateful if you would lead us out of here. We didn’t want to stay, it was a mistake.”

The unicorn’s ears twirled once, then it nodded. Merlin tried not to laugh, because Arthur was addressing it so intently.

“Do you think it understood me?” Arthur asked, from the side of his mouth.

“Yes,” Merlin replied in kind. “And I think it still does.”

The unicorn made a noise hat sounded like a horsey laugh, then bowed her head low and waited.

“What do you think she wants _now_?”

“Well I’m no expert but… maybe she wants you to – uh – get on?”

“You mean ‘mount’.”

“Yes, that.”

“If you’re wrong you realise she could kill me with one kick?”

Merlin hadn’t thought of that. “Uhm. Yes?”

Arthur reached out very slowly, making quiet, reassuring noises. He put his hand on her neck and stroked, and the unicorn made a pleased sound and pushed into his hand.

“I’m going to try and mount you,” Arthur told it solemnly. “Please let me know if this is a bad idea first, or at least don’t kill me if you don’t like it.”

A soft noise and a nod again, and she butted her head into Arthur’s chest.

“Here goes nothing,” the Prince said, then vaulted onto her back.

There was a horrible moment when Merlin was sure she was going to throw him, and then she reared but made a trumpeting sound of what sounded like pleasure and pranced towards Merlin.

“Whoa.”

Arthur was beaming like a madman, and Merlin realised he was doing the same.

“I know,” Arthur replied, and stroked the unicorn’s neck. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Merlin grinned. “I think this is only temporary.”

“Try and get on Pax. I think she’ll take you.”

“Why not Bane?”

“Bane follows Pax everywhere. Why do you think I chose her for you? Get on Pax and we’ll get out of this hell-hole.”

Well there went any lingering belief in himself as a horseman, Merlin thought sadly. He stroked Pax’s neck much like Arthur did, and spoke lowly to her as he mounted. Bane made a sad noise, and bumped her nose into Merlin’s leg.

“Don’t worry, it’s only temporary,” he told her. And then he looked up and saw… Arthur was riding the unicorn like they were born for one another, and the beast was circling impatiently, ready to be off.

“Ready?” Arthur asked.

“I think… yes.”

The unicorn reared again, and called out louder than she had any right to, and suddenly they were moving in a mad flight, faster even than their first day in the forest.

Merlin held on for dear life as Pax tried valiantly to keep pace with the unicorn, who pressed on hard but somehow Merlin knew not to her full strength. Bane was running alongside, and as she was riderless she would sometimes slip a little ahead of Merlin and Pax, only to drop back obediently, wanting to follow them. 

Arthur whooped and hollered ahead, and Merlin was relieved to see how he was lying flat to the unicorn’s neck too, and holding onto her mane for dear life. For all he’d got accustomed to travelling like this, his legs ached from pressing his knees in tight, and his shoulders burned from leaning forwards. 

The exhilaration was such that at first Merlin didn’t notice the creeping change in the scenery: the way the trees grew hostile again. It took longer this time, and they had the head start. But eventually the very landscape was against them again, and twigs scratched at his cheeks and his arms, making him gasp and hold on tighter.

“Isn’t… this… wonderful?” Arthur yelled.

“…if we get out… alive!” Merlin shouted back.

Arthur’s only response was another whoop of delight, which soon turned into an alarmed “….close your eyes!”

“What?!”

Merlin wished sometimes he was quicker on the uptake, because he saw why Arthur had told him to not look. There was a chasm ahead of them, a gully that spanned much too much open ground for their horses to make it. Merlin felt his stomach drop to his knees. “Ohnonono!”

And then the unicorn was jumping, and Merlin didn’t know what to do. Without thought, his self-preservation kicked in and he felt a helpless surge of magic flow from him without knowing what or how. Just before Pax got so close she shied, a glowing bridge of light arced from one side of the expanse to the other, and though Pax was nervous, Merlin urged her on and she charged after her master, Bane close on their heels.

Merlin didn’t see if the unicorn needed it, because he was too busy closing his eyes _now_ and wondering how long it would be before Arthur killed him. Arthur was yelling in victory again, and maybe he was lucky enough that Arthur just thought the other two horses… somehow made the jump. He didn’t know.

The unicorn turned in a wide circle, checking her forward momentum and slowing down to a trot and then a stop. Merlin urged Pax to do the same, not wanting to fly over her head if she stopped too hard. Bane was cavorting around them, her eyes wild and excited.

“Merlin! Merlin, are you okay?”

“Yes, Sire… yes.”

“Wasn’t that _amazing_?” Arthur asked, sounding as elated as Bane did. “I’ve never seen anything _jump_ so far!”

Okay. Maybe he hadn’t noticed? Even better, maybe Merlin could pass it off as the unicorn’s magic?

“Me either,” he replied, weakly. His heart was pounding, and he wasn’t at all sure why they had stopped.

The unicorn turned to look at the horizon, though, and Merlin saw the start of dawn creeping over the hill. They were in open country, now, with the gorge behind them falling into a river, the forest all on the other side.

“We’re out,” Arthur grinned. “She did it.”

The unicorn whinnied her agreement, then pawed the ground. She lowered her head, and Arthur guiltily let go of her mane. 

“I think she wants you to… uhm. Get off.”

“Dismount,” Arthur corrected him, then patted her neck once. He slid from her back gracefully, and Merlin just wished he had an ounce of that grace. “Thank you,” he told the unicorn, which turned to peer directly at him, then tossed her head.

Merlin dismounted from Pax, but his own legs were wobbly from the effort of staying on and he tried not to fall on his backside. Bane was immediately butting her head into his chest until he laughed and scratched behind her ears.

“Thanks,” Merlin added. “Thank you so much.”

The unicorn seemed to accept their thanks, because she snorted once into Arthur’s hair, then walked slowly away from them. Merlin watched in confusion until she turned back to face the gorge and he realised she’d been getting sufficient space to build up her speed. A moment later she trumpeted again and charged at the break in the ground, kicking off almost too late, even, and landing barely on the other side. Merlin breathed out in relief, and watched her vanish into the trees again.

When he looked back at Arthur, he caught him grinning like a fool. Merlin was startled to see such open pleasure on the Prince’s face, and even more startled to see the handful of silvery threads in his hand.

“Arthur… is that…?”

Arthur followed his gaze and looked into his hand. “Oh. Unicorn hair, I suppose. I must have been holding on too hard when she jumped.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“No, me either. Merlin… did we just…?”

“I think we did.”

***

They rode much slower after that, even though both horses were in high spirits, because Arthur wisely pointed out they didn’t want to flog the poor beasts to death. 

Arthur also said he knew precisely where they should be going, so Merlin followed him without much argument because anything was better than being in a forest for days on end. Merlin didn’t know how Arthur had memorised all the maps of everywhere they went, but he hadn’t got them lost once so far… in the open anyway. 

This meant that they could just ride and Merlin wasn’t under orders to look for anything, find anything, or… do anything. He could just ride. Which was a relief.

Even more amazingly, just as the light was fading and it was almost time to pitch tent, Arthur spotted Gore’s colours flying in the distance. “Look!”

Merlin couldn’t believe they had ridden for days in a forest and that as soon as they were out of the forest, the found the castle they’d left behind in under a day. That seemed far too lucky, even for them.

“Are you sure?”

“Will you stop asking me that? Yes, I’m sure. Now come on.”

Pax and Bane seemed not to mind one last gallop, not when they could see civilisation. Merlin thought they were probably intelligent enough to remember the last warm stable they’d had. If he was a horse, it would be one of the things he paid most attention to, he was sure.

They got to the gates just as the night got truly dark, and Merlin was relieved when the guards called out in welcome and people hurried out to take their horses. After all, they still didn’t know for certain that the Princess had been returned home safely after all.

“Arthur, Merlin!” 

They’d only just dismounted when Kay called out, clattering into the courtyard and skidding on the wet stones. He was half-dressed, with trousers and boots on, pulling a shirt over his head as he ran. 

“Kay! Kay you have no idea how good it is to see you,” Arthur told him, smiling with genuine fondness. Merlin had always been struck by just how much Arthur seemed to care for his Knights, and more recently how he’d seen this extend to all the people of Camelot. 

Kay grabbed Arthur and hugged him fiercely, squeezing him so tightly the Prince choked and slapped at his arms. Kay grinned and then Merlin found himself subject to the same treatment. Only Kay tilted backwards at the waist and Merlin’s feet suddenly left the floor. Merlin flailed in alarm as he was twirled around on the spot before he was planted back down.

“We worried you were dead!” Kay told them.

“Sire, it is wonderful to see you safe and sound,” Oswald told him, walking almost as quickly as Kay but in considerably more clothes.

“And you, too, men. Merlin and I were held hostage by evil spirits.”

“I knew it!” Kay said, slapping his thigh loudly. “I knew it!”

“What happened to everyone else?” Merlin asked. “Did they get out okay?”

“Everyone else did, yes,” Oswald reassured him. “The evening after you set out, the King’s men came back with the Princess. They’d found her sitting in a copse, all alone. She would tell no one what happened, and eventually they brought her back. No one could find you, though they tried for hours.”

“We rode out once we heard you’d gone,” Kay butted in. “Immediately, Sire. But we couldn’t for the life of us get in. The trees themselves held us back! I’m sorry, Sire, we did everything we could. Some bewitchment stopped us.”

“It’s alright. We were similarly stuck inside,” Arthur told them. “I know you would have come for us if you could.”

“We rode the whole edge of the forest to the gorge and back on both sides, but we couldn’t get in. We tried the day after, and the day after…”

“But we couldn’t get in. And Uriens wouldn’t let us send for men from Camelot,” Kay fairly spat the King’s name. “We were going to wait two more days before we rode out ourselves.”

“You did well. I’m grateful for all your efforts,” Arthur told them, and Kay seemed to settle down a little. As ever, Oswald barely seemed to notice the compliment. He merely smiled gently.

“This man looks more suspicious every minute,” Merlin muttered under his breath, and Kay nodded fiercely.

“No good, double-crossing, lying, conniving…”

“Kay,” Arthur checked him, softly. “Not now.”

Kay grumbled but fell silent.

“But what about you, Sire?” Oswald asked. “How did you get free?”

“Perseverance, and a few choice words to our captor,” Arthur lied. “I’ll tell you about it in my quarters. First, Merlin and I need a good meal, a bath, and to sleep.”

“I’ll make sure you get it, Sire,” Kay promised, and turned to bark orders at the milling locals.

“Oh, a bath. I’d forgotten what they looked like,” Merlin groaned, realising he probably looked terrible right now. 

“I often think you forget what they look like, Merlin,” Arthur chided gently, and dropped an arm around his shoulders. “Come on. We’ll go refresh your memory.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

“Give my apologies to King Uriens, Oswald. And congratulate him on the safe return of his daughter.” 

Arthur made that seem almost like an insult, and Merlin was not surprised. He didn’t have much faith in Uriens’ loyalty or motives either.

***

When they got back to the room Uriens had given them when they first arrived, Merlin realised they hadn’t been expected back. Their things were in the room, but not as they had left them merely days ago: now they were hastily put out in a way that looked mostly sensible but very rushed, and certainly not how he had unpacked. Merlin’s system was often taken for a mess by his Prince, but Merlin knew there was an order behind the chaos that Arthur just wasn’t creative enough to see.

He was bathed now, scrubbed pink by a scolding female servant who had tutted at his attempts to cover himself and pulled his hands out of the way until he submitted to being thoroughly de-mucked. He didn’t see Arthur’s treatment, but Merlin would be surprised if he was treated quite so roughly. Merlin ran his fingers through damp hair and tried to think what he should do next. His head was spinning and it was hard to think of anything but the comfortable bed and no need to wake repeatedly and stare into the dark night. 

Merlin was still fighting the urge to jump into the bed and work out what vaguely nagging memory was convincing him he still had some duty to perform for Arthur – and standing stupidly in the middle of the room while he struggled – when there was a knock at the door.

“Hello?”

The door opened and a young boy peered cautiously around the frame. “Sir Oswald said you might want this,” he lisped quietly.

Merlin padded over, curious, and then laughed loudly when the boy held up a tray covered by a metal tin, with a skin of wine balanced on top. He could smell the baked food and meat underneath.

“Oh, yes! Yes I do. Thank you _so_ much. Both of you, in fact,” Merlin babbled, his mouth running in his excitement. Of course this was what he’d forgotten. 

He held out his hands for the tray. “Please tell Sir Oswald I’m grateful if you see him. And you, too, for bringing this.” 

“I will, m’Lord, I will,” the boy said, bowing and starting to back out of the room. Merlin was too tired to correct him, and let him leave.

He put the tray on the table and sent a good thought into the ether about Oswald. Arthur was lucky to have such considerate and devoted men, and Merlin was no longer entirely surprised by it as he had been to begin with.

Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait for Arthur, because the thought of freshly cooked and baked food – and who knew what else he couldn’t even smell – was slowly driving him crazy. He realised that the constant, low ache of hunger he’d felt was simply the leaves of the turnip, whereas the huge lump of turnip – or lack-of-turnips hunger – was hidden underneath. Merlin grinned when he opened the door without knocking and walked in.

“Merlin! You read my mind.”

“Almost, Sire,” Merlin replied. Well, he had known he was missing something, he just hadn’t been able to work out what.

“Well enough for me. What are you waiting for? You’ll be as famished as I am.”

Merlin lifted the lid and laughed at the handwritten note inside. _‘As you wanted, Merlin.’_ Oswald was even crediting him with the idea.

Arthur didn’t notice the little letter, because he had a hunk of bread and cheese in one hand and roast something (probably pig or boar) in the other and was taking bites from one then the other, sometimes before he’d even swallowed the last mouthful.

“Join in,” he told him around a particularly large bite, and Merlin didn’t need telling twice.

It was wonderful. Everything seemed cooked to perfection, with the pastry flaking and the juice dripping warmly down his chin (making him flick out his tongue to catch the warm streak), the cheese strong enough to make his eyes water and the butter on the bread had soaked into the holes, but was spread on deep enough that Merlin couldn’t remember having seen so much butter before in his life.

Arthur nodded at the wine, and Merlin poured Arthur a goblet, pausing to make sure Arthur didn’t frown when he looked at the second goblet before pouring himself a measure too. He only drank a little because he was already tired, and even the small sips made him drowsy, so he tried to hide the yawn behind his hand.

To his surprise, Arthur yawned too, then met Merlin’s eyes over his hand. Even more surprisingly, Arthur smiled ever so slightly.

“Let’s finish as much as we can and then turn in. As much as I’d love to storm in on King Uriens and make him answer all my questions, I think letting him sweat this overnight will unsettle him even more.”

“He had our things moved,” Merlin offered.

“He didn’t expect us back, did he?”

Merlin shook his head, meaning he thought the same. 

“I want you to come in with me when I see him tomorrow. They don’t know what your role is, which will unsettle him even more. You can pretend to be my adviser.”

“Your adviser?”

“Yes, Merlin. Adviser. But don’t _give_ me any advice, just… act calm and knowing. I don’t want you to look like an idiot by suggesting something silly, and it will help if they think you’re there to keep me from getting too angry.”

“Okay… calm, quiet, knowing. I can do that.”

“Wonderful. Now let’s get some sleep and hope they don’t kill us in the middle of the night.”

Merlin choked on the wine he was drinking.

“Don’t worry, they probably won’t,” Arthur reassured him.

“Oh, goodie.”

The Prince got up and brushed his hands clean, before wiping them with a cloth. Merlin did the same.

“Cheer up, Merlin. It’ll be fun. And if some insane forest manifestation of evil can’t kill us…”

“You’re tempting fate,” Merlin replied, but he was smiling. 

“Someone has to.”

Merlin shook his head in amusement, but didn’t point out that it made no sense. He was too tired. Instead he tidied the food up a little and resealed the wineskin, before walking over to the bed and collapsing on it in a tangle of loose limbs. He groaned in pleasure.

“Stop that, Merlin. I’m still in the room you know.”

“Stop what?” Merlin asked, rolling over to peer up at Arthur on his larger bed.

“Making indecent noises. Your Prince is in the room, and he doesn’t want to hear you enjoying your bed.”

Merlin nearly choked _again_ , except he fortunately didn’t have wine in his mouth this time or he might have suffocated. “ _What_?!”

“You know what I mean, Merlin. Now go to sleep.”

Indecent noises? The young warlock just threw himself back down on the bed with a groan this time. It must be the proximity to Sir Kay: everyone went insane near him.

“Of course, Sire.”

“And don’t snore.”

Not that Merlin thought he _did_ snore, no matter what Arthur said. No one else ever said they’d heard him, and although Gaius was getting on in years there was nothing wrong with _his_ hearing.

“Yes, Sire.”

“And don’t give cheek.”

Merlin threw a sock at him, and couldn’t help but laugh too.

***

In the morning they had an audience with Uriens alone, and the summons came before they’d even got out of bed. Merlin hurried to get ready as soon as the messenger told them, and stood at the foot of Arthur’s bed, dressed and confused. 

“What’s the weather like today?” Arthur asked, stirring lazily.

“…cold, I think.”

“Get my little waistcoat out, then.”

Merlin did, adding it to the pile of clothes waiting for the Prince, but Arthur simply rolled over with a loud yawn and pulled the covers up higher.

“Sire?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

“…King Uriens is waiting to see you.”

“Us, Merlin. Us.”

The warlock clicked his tongue against his teeth and counted back from ten, something Gwen had suggested to him for the frequent occasions when Arthur sent him almost into a fit of screaming rage. This time he got to seven.

“King Uriens is waiting to see us, Sire. And we already didn’t see him last night.”

“Is he going to have me executed?”

Merlin thought about this. “Probably not.”

“No. Not when I rode out to save his precious Princess and was almost eaten by his forest. Nor will he kill you, because he knows Camelot would bring down the full fury of her allies down on him and he’d be obliterated from the face of Albion. Get me some tea.”

With a long sigh, Merlin started counting down again as he walked to the scullery. He got to one several times – more than he could count – smiled at the worried-looking servants and brought the tea back to Arthur. The walk gave him the opportunity to plan out several possible methods of revenge and by the time he was in their room again he’d had mental-Arthur apologise profusely at least three times. 

Arthur was at least up now, and vaguely pulling on his socks. Merlin handed him the tea and bent to do a better job of it.

“We’ll suggest he does a thorough sweep of the forest. Drives every last damn pixie and elf from the branches. Not rest until the last of the magic is driven from his land.”

Merlin felt his blood run ice cold. “But Sire… the unic—”

Arthur bent forwards, pressing his fingers to Merlin’s lips. Merlin blinked at the sudden closeness, trying not to panic and back away.

“He won’t do it. I know he won’t. He’ll promise, and he’ll plan, but he won’t do it. I know his kind, Merlin. He uses the woods to do the things he’s not brave enough to do. And he’s terrified of the forces in there… it’s why he sent us and didn’t go himself.”

Merlin bit his lip, wondering if Arthur would move back and let him speak. When he didn’t, Merlin decided to talk against his finger. “And if he does?”

“He won’t. Merlin… I know kings. I know him. And this way, the word that gets back to my father…”

Oh yes. There was Uther to think about. Arthur’s father wouldn’t accept anything less than a holy war on magic, and if he heard his son had not been taking Camelot’s policy with him… it would not be pretty.

“I see.”

“You’re not to mention what happened. To anyone.” Arthur let his hand drop from Merlin’s face, and fall between his own legs, but he didn’t pull back and stayed huddled conspiratorially close. “We challenged the evil spirit of the woods and won.”

Merlin understood why this was, too. Arthur had accepted the unicorn’s help, but he couldn’t admit that to anyone. To anyone but him. It made him feel strangely… warm.

“I understand, Sire.”

“Good. Now let’s go and play the part so we can leave. I want to see if I can work out why he’d send us to almost certain death if he did want me to marry his daughter. Or if someone else is jealous of her hand.”

“You think someone would kidnap her just to stop you marrying her so they could marry her?”

“You have no idea how the courts think, do you Merlin?”

“I’m starting to feel glad I don’t.”

Arthur sat back with a smirk. “Then get me dressed, before he does decide to throw you in the stocks to punish my tardiness.”

Merlin shuddered as he remembered what it felt like to be pelted with food that wasn’t even always rotten. Arthur really had no idea what his manservant went through for him. “I’m all in favour of avoiding that,” he told the Prince as he held the shirt out for him.

“You know I wouldn’t let anyone but my people throw food at you, don’t you Merlin?”

“Your dedication is the stuff of legend, Sire.”

“Exactly.”

***

Merlin realised that even Uther’s most formal, intimidating meetings were nothing compared to the effect Uriens tried to accomplish. The King sat in a solitary throne at the end of a very long room, atop three steep steps.

The room was wide enough to seat twenty abreast, and at least four times as long. A slender carpet ran from the throne to just below the throne, then it split to flank the walls to the door at the far end, where Arthur and Merlin entered. This meant that their boots echoed loudly on the bare stone as they approached, whereas the servants who walked the edges of the room could move silently. Uriens was dressed in finery Merlin associated with huge pageants, and he was holding a heavy golden sceptre, the end planted between his feet.

Despite all this, Merlin felt something approaching pity and amusement, rather than fear. Uriens went to such lengths to show his power, but Merlin could sense him twitching and his eyes flitting back and forth as he waited for them to draw close. He was a laughable figure, with none of the natural authority of Arthur or his father, and for once Merlin found he missed his own King. Uther could intimidate in a kitchen, simply by walking into the room and not saying a word.

“Prince Arthur,” Uriens addressed him and Arthur merely bowed his head once. “…Merlin…”

Merlin tried not to smile, aware that the lack of a full name or title left many people confused about his station, and was gratified to note that Arthur didn’t steal the mystery by giving him a better introduction, correct or not. He was still ‘Merlin of Ealdor’, and they were far enough from home that Uriens wouldn’t know Ealdor was a tiny village of no real importance to anyone but him.

“Your Highness,” Merlin deferred with an equally curt nod.

“It is good to see you both alive and well,” Uriens told them, with a wave to say they should come no further. 

“And good to hear your daughter was returned safe and well, too. Did you find out who kidnapped her, my Lord?” Arthur asked.

“No… no, I regret we did not. Princess Siobhan could not identify the men: they caught her off guard and she was blindfold until they left her alone.”

“Left her alone? Did they say why? It seems incredibly strange to go to the length of abducting a royal heir only to leave her so close to her kingdom. Have you no idea why?”

Uriens flushed slightly, and Merlin wished he knew enough to tell why. He wondered if Arthur could guess more.

“No… it is strange indeed. Gore has no real enemies, and my daughter came to no harm. We were hoping you might be able to explain in more detail.”

Merlin felt Arthur draw himself up taller, which often meant his pride had been stung. He guessed that was the meaning in this case. 

“My Lord, no. We were separated from your men almost immediately upon entering the woods. We were attacked by the evil spirits of the place, but they seemed to wish no ill to anyone but my companion and I. Which makes me wonder why they let all your men and your daughter go… do you have an explanation for that?”

“Spirits! What! No… no explanation. Prince Arthur, you must explain!” Uriens clasped the arms of his throne and pushed almost to his feet.

“Evil spirits which wished Merlin and I harm. I propose you act on this at once. Had I the men I would offer to sweep the evil taint from your land, but unfortunately we are only on a mission of peace and do not come armed for war. Your co-operation in this would be seen as a great gesture of friendship between our two lands, and if you wished I am sure my father would send men to assist…”

“That… that will be considered, Prince Arthur. I… cannot tell you just yet, I must consult with the Captain of my Guard, but your suggestion will be considered in depth, I assure you.”

“Yes. You would do well to, because you might find people choose not to ally with you… they might suspect – entirely incorrectly of course – that you had made some bargain with those foul creatures to keep yourself save but not your friends. You know how these rumours spread… it’s terribly unfortunate.”

Uriens’ eyes narrowed. “That would indeed be unfortunate.”

“I trust you will make the right decision, and I am sorry I could not give you more information about the men who took your daughter. Hopefully your Captain will be able to give her a diligent guard to prevent this happening again.”

“Yes… yes we already have her under close surveillance. I am confident she will be safe now.”

“With your blessing, my Lord, I should like to leave at midday. You can understand how this unfortunate event has left us massively behind our schedule, and I would hate for my father to hear rumours and send someone up to look for me needlessly.”

“Of course, of course… I will instruct my people to give you whatever you require for your journey. And I hope this will not harm your opinion of Gore. This… was a very rare occurrence.”

“I’m sure it was, and I trust you will keep it thus. I am honoured by your generosity, my Lord.”

“It is nothing,” Uriens waved a hand vaguely. “May the road treat you well.”

“And you,” Arthur replied, clipping his heels together and turning smartly, before seeming to remember something. “Oh… and one thing more, my Lord?”

“Yes?”

“The man who rode with us, Marcus… he did an exemplary job. I would – if he was my man – grant him honours for his hard work. I thought you might want to know, as you were not there to see.”

Uriens paled then. “Thank you… yes, I will see that it is done.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Arthur said sincerely, then turned again to go. Merlin followed, struggling to keep pace.

***

“He had something to do with it, or he suspected someone,” Arthur told him as they strode purposefully towards Oswald and Kay’s rooms. “He wasn’t nearly worried enough for her, even if she _has_ been back for days.”

“Do you know what… or why?”

“No. No… which is why I want to leave at once. We are not safe here, and we’ll find no support in these walls we couldn’t get better from somewhere else. Not unless Marcus wants to join us.”

“Do you think he will?”

“No, not with a royal thank you. Although if we do have to come here again, he will likely suspect it is my word that prompted it and he will be inclined to help us.”

“Is that why you did it?”

“Not entirely. Partially it is, but also I think good work should be rewarded. He’s an excellent tracker, and he would be an asset to anyone’s guard.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Now… you go and see to the horses. I’ll see Kay and Oswald and we’ll ride out as soon as they are packed. I’m anxious to put as much ground between this court and us as we can.”

“Alright, shall I meet you in the stables?”

“Yes. I’ll have someone send down our things, and you work on packing them. And check the horses’ shoes, too.”

“I will.”

“And congratulations on your acting back there.”

“Acting? I just stood and said nothing.”

“Precisely,” Arthur said, slapping him on the arm and breaking into longer strides in the direction of their rooms. Merlin snorted in amusement and turned towards the stables instead. Well, it was one of the easiest things he’d been asked to do since becoming Arthur’s manservant, so he supposed he shouldn’t grumble.

The stables were almost empty, and the horses were all stabled together fortunately. Merlin said a sheepish hello to them and was surprised to find not only his and Arthur’s horse, but Oswald’s and the two cart-horses snort back at him. Bane came over to him at once and pushed her nose into his chest and snuffled his hand looking for treats. He laughed and patted her nose. 

“No, I don’t have anything yet. But if you’re a good girl I’ll see if I can find something before we set out again. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“You’re getting the idea of it now,” came a voice from behind him, making Merlin jump.

“You! How did you… I mean, where were you?”

“Where was I? Just here.”

“You vanished the other day. And now you just… appear. Who are you?”

The soldier just shrugged lightly. “Someone who is good with horses, that’s all. I like to make sure people treat them well.”

“Well… okay that makes sense. But it still doesn’t explain why you jump back and forth.”

“I’m very busy,” the soldier smiled. “Lots of horses.”

“Well… try not to jump up on people. A little hello or something first might help.”

“Hello.”

“Oh very funny,” Merlin said, bending to peer at Pax’s foot, and touching her leg slightly like he’d seen Arthur and Kay do before. Pax seemed confused, though, and kept turning in circles to move her feet away.

“You could help me do this?” he asked. “Please? I have no idea how to check shoes. I just about know what they look like.”

The other man walked over to Pax and put his hand on her neck, then stroked the other down her leg until she bent her knee obligingly. “There you go.”

“What am I looking for?”

“You’re checking the shoe is still on, it still has all the nails, plenty of depth, and that the hooves aren’t hurt at all. This one is fine. Want to try?”

“Thanks,” Merlin told him, then somehow managed to get Pax to lift her rear leg for him. Maybe because she was used to all her hooves being checked at once so she knew to lift them, rather than any skill on Merlin’s part.

“She’s in good shape. You took good care of her in the forest.”

“Actually, they kind of took good care of themselves. They need a lot less looking after than I expected.”

“Quite true,” the other man told him, sounding bemused. “But you won’t accept a compliment will you?”

“Oh. Oh. Uh… thanks.” He finished checking Pax’s hooves and moved over to do Bane, hoping his own horse would take her cue from the Prince’s. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Folks tend to call me ‘Licorn’ around here. You can if you like.”

“Licorn? Nice to meet you. I’m Merlin.”

“I know,” Licorn told him, grinning broadly again. The man seemed forever amused.

“Look… this might be, uh, a weird question…”

“I won’t know until you ask it, will I?”

“Uh. Are there any stories of… wild horses in the forest?”

“You mean special, white horses. With a…” he waved a hand in front of his face and Merlin laughed nervously.

“No-no… horses. Really. Horses.”

“Then no.”

“Okay.” Merlin sighed. “But if there were…”

“Yes?”

“…do they tend to let people just… ride them? I mean… really, _really_ wild.”

Licorn’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “No. Not… often. It is said that the… horses can tell those who are pure of heart, and they will let those see them, but you have to be pure of heart and body for them to come near. And I haven’t heard of anyone riding one in… in a very long time. Why?”

“Just… wondered. Is all. No… no reason.”

“In fact, if you go very far back there are tales of young maidens who would walk into the woods before their wedding days. They would hunt for the… horses… and invariably come back and tell their betrothed they had seen them, which would be a good omen for their wedding day.”

Merlin snorted. “They would _say_ they’d seen them.”

“Yes.” Licorn grinned. “But as only another pure person could witness this… it was only the young maidens who could go into the woods and look. And who would be able to prove them false?”

“It all sounds a little silly to me.”

“Well, it was. But it was based on a much older tradition. You see, a young Knight was riding out to slay a dragon when he met a… horse.” He smiled deeper every time he said the word. “He brought back some locks of the beast’s mane, and wove them into a circlet for his beloved. It was a symbol of his purity, and she wore the strands woven into her veil.”

“That… that’s sort of… sweet. Almost.”

Licorn nodded. “And those strands stayed as bright as the day he caught them, because both he and his bride were true of heart and body in their union.”

“And no one else got any?”

“Well, the story – the one they don’t put in the romances of course – is that others tried the same, but that they could never get any strands. They would use the hair from a pure white horse but they wouldn’t be the same, and that’s why they don’t call white horses ‘white’, but grey.”

“That… I did wonder why.”

“Well, it may not be true. It is just a story. And the last part of the story… well. The Knight had a rival who was jealous of the wedding-gift he gave to his bride… _both_ of them… so he stole a few strands from her veil.”

“Okay. What happened?”

“The strands… vanished. They disintegrated between his fingers, because he was not true and pure as his rival was when he took them.”

“Really?”

“The story says so. But it is just a story.”

Merlin patted Bane, who was sniffing at his ear. “Yes… I suppose so. But it’s a nice…” The young sorcerer looked back, but Licorn was gone again.

“…story,” he finished weakly. He looked about in the stable but there was only a young man brushing down the royal horses who looked at him like he was crazy. Maybe the ‘helloooos?’ had done it?

“Okay,” he muttered under his breath, walking back to their five horses. 

Which is when the story hit him. Because that meant that _Arthur_ … “Wait, what?!”

And of course this was when Kay came in and grabbed his shoulder from behind to hug him, bone-crushingly tight. “Merlin! Talking to the animals, are you? And they call _me_ crazy.”

“I was… just talking to myself, Kay.”

“That’s even worse. At least a horse talks back.”

Oswald’s mare whinnied her agreement, and scraped the floor with one hoof. 

“See!”

And then Oswald and Arthur came into the stables too, and it was far too busy to think about anything over the racket. It was worse than if they’d been drinking, because at least then the men had an excuse. Now they were just noisy, and ready to get back on the road.

“Are we packed?”

“Almost, Sire,” Merlin told him.

“Well hurry up! I want to get out of here before someone else tries to kill or kiss me.”

Merlin wished Arthur had chosen something else to say. Really, he did.

***

“Where do we ride, my Lord?” Oswald asked, once they were out through the portcullis and riding into the open land ahead.

“If my father hears of what happened – which he well might – I’m sure he’d either insist we rode back, or send a score of men to join us,” Arthur said, carefully choosing his words.

“So that’s a ‘keep riding’ then?” Kay hazarded, his tone deceptively light.

Arthur turned to look at Merlin, which took the warlock by surprise. “What do you say, Merlin?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Well, you were the one hijacked by evil trees with me, and even though you come from the back-end of nowhere… you don’t have the training Kay and Oswald do.”

Oswald grinned and led his horse close enough to Merlin to bump legs. “That’s Arthur’s way of saying: ‘I’ve put you through a lot, I want to make sure you’re happy to keep going,’ you see,” he said lowly, and laughed when he caught the Prince scowling at them.

“Well?” Arthur asked, impatiently. Clearly Oswald was right, because he wasn’t denying any of the charges.

“Well: I may not be trained in all the killing and running around in shiny metal suits, but I also wasn’t coddled growing up,” Merlin told them, trying not to laugh. “Let’s go before King Uther demands us back.”

“I knew you’d say that!” Arthur crowed. “Now, North!”

“North!” Merlin cried out, surprised to find the two Knights chanting it alongside him, with their blades drawn and pointing straight to the sky. 

Arthur kneed Pax, who neighed loudly, reared, and set off at a fierce canter. Kay cried out in outrage and whipped above his horses’ flanks, desperately trying to keep his cart up with his Prince’s pace. 

Oswald followed Arthur, giving his own horse free reign and the two of them were weaving back and forth across one another’s paths in delight. Merlin was happy just to keep pace with Kay, who didn’t look too impressed that someone would have to hold back for him. Bane also wasn’t happy, because she wanted to be cavorting around with the others, but Merlin told her gently that he wanted some peace for once and she raised her ears a little.

Eventually Arthur let Pax slow and they all eased into a much gentler stride. Bane snorted in disgust at Arthur’s horse, but the mare didn’t seem chastised by it.

“We can swap for a while, if you like,” Oswald told Kay. “Star still has plenty of wind in her.”

Kay looked torn for a few moments, but then his eagerness overtook his pride and he nodded. They all halted to let the two riders change, and Merlin was struck by how much more at ease Kay seemed in the saddle. He seemed even more at ease than Arthur did, and Star treated the bigger man no different than she would Oswald. 

He looked over to Arthur and they exchanged a brief, wordless conversation, with Arthur nodding at the end. Kay gee’d Star along and put some distance between them, to ride at the head of their party. Pax came alongside Bane, and they rode in companionable silence for some time.

Eventually their shadows grew longer and started to melt into the darkness of the evening, so Arthur called for them to make camp. It was much easier with a cart, because they had their tent, blanket and supplies with them. Merlin realised that even after a night spent indoors, the tent would still seem like a luxury after all those days in the woods. 

Oswald and Kay started to help him as soon as Merlin began putting up their tents, and even Arthur joined in to hold things in place while others poked, banged or prodded them. Oswald did the cooking (he was by far the best of them at it) and Kay settled the horses in, tethering them and throwing blankets over their backs for the night.

The two Knights were calm and relaxed about them, but even though they still laughed and joked, Merlin got the sense that they were holding back. Or maybe he and Arthur were, because no one was really talking about what had gone on in the forest. Unless, of course, Arthur had told them when Merlin wasn’t around.

Either way, no one seemed to want to bring the subject up, so Merlin decided to let it slide.

At least until they turned in, anyway. Kay and Oswald both insisted that they would share the watches, as they had not been run into the ground like Merlin and Arthur had. The Prince had refused at first, but Oswald had made him see reason as ever. 

Kay and Oswald usually bunked together when sharing was needed, and it was almost unspokenly accepted that this would happen, now. Even more so if they would be sharing watches whilst the other two did not.

The tent was small and cramped, and there was little difference between his bedding and Arthur’s. It wasn’t really as if they could afford to pack a mattress for one of their group. Merlin wasn’t tired, though, and really couldn’t relax, so when they were both inside the little tent, he fussed with their things, pulled at the tarpaulin covering them, wondering if he’d driven the pegs in firmly and wide-apart enough.

“Merlin, stop fussing.”

“Sorry, Sire,” he mumbled, then lay down, pulling the blanket over himself.

He still wasn’t relaxed, and couldn’t think about sleep at all. He tried not to drum his fingers or turn over and over, instead going through lectures Gaius had given him on various plants and their uses in an attempt to bore himself to sleep. Apparently he was too still and rigid, however, because Arthur complained again.

“What is it? Come on… you’re clearly thinking about something. Which is a rarity in and of itself.”

“Nothing… really. I’m just not tired.”

“You haven’t slept properly for days, and hardly made up for it last night. Something must be bothering you.”

“You aren’t sleeping, either.”

“I’m the Prince. It’s different.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You’re awake. And I want to know why.”

Arthur could be infuriating at times. Merlin bit his lip so as not to tell him, and rolled over to face him. “Okay… do you still have that locket of hair?”

Blue eyes blinked in confusion. Clearly not what he’d expected. “You can’t sleep because of hair?”

“Humour me?”

“Alright… yes, I do.”

“One of the soldiers in Gore was telling me about it.”

“Hair.”

“Not… any hair.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened. “Merlin, you didn’t…”

“No! No. I didn’t say anything about… what kind of hair. Look. He knew a lot about horses, so I asked… about horses in the woods.”

“You’re insane, Merlin. I just want you to know that again, in case you’d forgotten.”

“I know. But he told…” No. Okay. It was ridiculous.

“Told you what, Merlin?”

“Okay… don’t get mad or anything. He just… he told me it was an old tradition that only the pure of heart and… body could approach unicorns. And that there was a story of a Knight who gave a lock of unicorn hair to his betrothed, and it was a sign of both of their… devotion. If… if you don’t tell Uther, then you have the perfect wedding present.”

Arthur choked. Merlin wasn’t surprised because it was sort of a weird thing to say. He hoped Arthur didn’t go so far as to claim insult and demand a fight to the death or something.

“And you believed this because…?”

“Uhm… it sounded like something the druids might say about unicorns?”

“And you thought it would be a good idea to tell me this… why?”

“Well… because you might. When you find the right person. They might be open to magic, and it could be a lovely gesture. So… if you have it, you might want to keep it. And I wanted to tell you in case you did like the idea but after you’d thrown it away and then you’d regret doing it. So. That’s why.”

Arthur looked at him strangely, and Merlin wasn’t sure at all what the other man was thinking. He looked confused and… contemplative. Then he lay down and stared straight up, and Merlin wondered if he’d missed something.

“My father would be pleased, I suppose. If he didn’t hate unicorns. And everything magical.”

This seemed like a complete non-sequitur, so Merlin could only say, “Huh?”

“It isn’t an easy task. Being the Prince. Not all banquets and feather-beds.”

Merlin guessed he wasn’t supposed to say anything here. And really, he didn’t want to. When he first came to Camelot he would have mocked Arthur for saying this, but having seen the problems he had to deal with on a regular basis, his opinion had changed.

“Heirs?” Merlin hazarded.

Arthur nodded. “Exactly.”

They lay in silence for a while, and Merlin wished he knew what to say. What was the right thing? The most comforting and respectful – and tactful – way of handling this? He wasn’t sure what young men who weren’t involved _did_ say to one another, let alone young men when one was the Prince and the other his manservant.

“But now you’re of age, you can look for one. I mean, a real one.”

“Heir?” Arthur replied, and Merlin could hear the grin.

“No… wife. I meant wife.”

“I know what you meant.”

There was more silence. 

“I can’t. Not… not until… not yet. And I haven’t found her, either.”

Merlin peered at Arthur’s silhouette in the darkening tent. “The right woman?”

“Yes.”

The silence drew out again, and Merlin wished to heaven he was tired. “You’ll find her. I’m certain.”

But there was no reply.

***

In the morning, Merlin felt a little better for having told Arthur the story of the unicorn hair. He also felt better because Arthur hadn’t dismissed the idea out of hand, which meant he might _just_ be warming to the idea of magic. Just.

For some reason the two Knights seemed happier as well, and Merlin decided just to take everyone’s happiness at face value. Arthur was the only one who wasn’t in high spirits, even though he feigned them. Merlin put it down to wife-less blues.

They hadn’t got very far, though, before there was a clatter of hooves drawing close, and the three on horseback were drawn in a protective circle about the cart. Merlin wanted to ask a question but the moment he opened his mouth to speak, Arthur lifted a hand in a gesture that Merlin thought must mean ‘silence’. He did not get many of Arthur’s confusing hand-waving messages, but this one seemed clear.

They advanced slowly in formation, and all three of his companions had their swords drawn. Merlin felt a little useless, but he knew there was little point in him drawing a sword, and that he’d have to act mostly useless unless there was a real threat. As ever. He drew his sword anyway, because there was no need for everyone to _think_ he was defenceless.

“Who advances?” Arthur called out, loud and clear. He’d heard him say this before, it seemed like some sort of Knightly-accepted behaviour.

“D-d-d…” came the response, still out of sight. The reply was short of breath and panicked, and Merlin was worried. Was it a trick, or someone who really needed help? He was sure Arthur would wait to see, but that could just prove their downfall: the Prince was too nice for his own good at times, just like Merlin was.

It turned out Arthur didn’t have long to make up his mind anyway, as moments later a mule skittered out in front of them, panting heavily and looking wobbly on its legs, with an equally harried looking young man astride, holding the reins in a death-grip.

“D-d-don’t… hurt… please, Sir…”

“No one will hurt you if you mean no harm,” Arthur said firmly and reassuringly. “Now tell us why you rode after us.”

“I come… from village… being attacked!” he blurted out, and his donkey made a noise of distress at the movement on his back.

“I think you should get off the ass, lad,” Kay said gently.

The boy nodded and slid down from the creature’s back. It shook from nose to tail immediately, and in no time Kay pouring a bowl of water for the beast. The donkey gladly lowered its nose in to the bowl, drinking noisily.

“Attacked… by whom?”

“Some… say dragons. Our Lord Brance… he will not help us. We heard you were coming… please save us?” The young boy was still bent double, hands on his knees and wheezing. Desperation was writ large on his young features, and fear. Merlin knew the expression well: he’d seen it many times before.

“Where have I heard this before?” Arthur asked, voice low, turning in his saddle to look at Merlin. It was uncanny sometimes how Arthur could echo his thoughts.

“It seems a common problem for little villages,” Merlin admitted. Like it had with Ealdor.

“Kings should not take lands, and their men and their tithes, if they cannot afford to – or do not want to – protect them,” Arthur grumbled under his breath, so that only Merlin and Oswald could hear.

“Will you help us?” the boy asked. He looked like he wanted to add ‘please’, but was biting his tongue.

“You will risk the enmity of the local King,” Oswald pointed out, his voice soft. He was offering the voice of reason, not cowardice.

“Or let people die needlessly at the hand of magic,” Arthur countered.

Oswald had no reply to that, so Merlin suggested: “Why don’t we help… but our names stay out of it?”

“And if we turn up two days after on the King’s doorstep… he won’t find that suspicious at all?” Arthur asked.

“Well… how about we were passing. Like. Close. On our way to see him, like we are now. And then we heard the roaring – shouting – whatever… and had to defend ourselves? Then we wouldn’t be interfering.”

There was a long pause, and Merlin looked from one companion to the other, then to the boy who was slowly turning a normal shade from his violent pink. His wide eyes looked hopeful suddenly, and Merlin didn’t want that light to die.

“That… is actually a good idea, Merlin,” Arthur admitted, reluctantly. 

“A very good idea,” Kay joined in, a lot louder. He clapped an arm around the young boy’s shoulders, warmly. “Think you can keep quiet about it?”

The boy nodded vigorously, looking about ready to faint with gratitude. It was becoming a common thing.

“You can ride with us until we’re close, direct us, and then you’re to stay missing for at least some hours so you can report in that you have missed us somehow. And come in from a different angle,” Arthur told him.

The boy nodded even more vigorously.

“Come on then, men. It’s time for more adventure,” Arthur told them, drolly. Anyone would think he didn’t _like_ risking life and limb for absolute strangers.

***

On the way to the village – Cragshead – the young boy Archie answered Arthur’s barrage of questions about the layout, the supplies, the people and the problem. Merlin was impressed both by Arthur’s forethought, and Archie’s memory. 

Cragshead was home to about sixty people, and most of the men worked in the lead mine. It was one of the few villages nearby that didn’t rely on livestock for its income, and had been prosperous until the tithe rate increased. The village was filled with the tools of the trade which meant an armed defence would be easier to arrange, but the problem lay with finding the threat.

A short distance from the village was the mine, but this was connected to a series of caves and tunnels. Archie didn’t know if these were man-made or if they were older than the village, and he doubted anyone else would know either. The tunnels were extensive and you could walk for days in them without finding your way out again.

“That sound familiar, too, Merlin?” Arthur had asked with a rueful smile.

“I think we should try to avoid being lost in _there_ , too, Sire,” Merlin had replied.

Merlin despaired at the enormity of the task, the more Archie explained the situation. Men had gone missing from their work in the mine, and all that had been found of them were their tools. Archie dismissed the possibility that they had just left.

“No, Sir. Lots had fam’lies at home. They left their tools, their work… even the lead they’d found.”

“So they didn’t decide to run off with the metal and sell up without paying a duty to the King,” Arthur summed up. “Is it only men working in the mines who have gone missing?”

Archie shook his head, biting his lip. 

“Someone you know?” Oswald guessed, gently prompting.

The young boy squared his shoulders and sat up higher in his saddle. “My brother. He… he was courting young Miss Grainne. They wanted to be married. They went out one night… and they didn’t come back. We… we found her shoe.”

“Why do you think it’s a dragon?” Merlin asked, when the silence stretched out a little too long and he felt uncomfortable. “I mean, has there been any sign other than missing people?”

“Dragons like to live in caves and tunnels, Merlin,” Arthur told him in the tone of voice that meant he thought Merlin had said something stupid again. “And they like to steal people.”

“And eat them,” Archie added, with a little squeak of terror.

“…yes, and eat them,” Arthur added with a sigh. He’d probably been trying to keep that unsaid so he wouldn’t upset the boy further.

“But other things live in caves,” Merlin said, defensively. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to defend dragons. It was… complicated. 

The Great Dragon had called out to him, personally. It had acknowledged his heritage when only Gaius and his mother had before, but neither of them knew what it was like to be different like he and the Dragon did. And it had the habit of being annoyingly cryptic, or giving advice Merlin didn’t want to follow. Still… the kinship was there…

“And I thought Uther had dealt with them all,” he added, a little weakly.

“He did,” Arthur agreed. “But it doesn’t mean there wasn’t an egg waiting to hatch, or some sorcerer summoning one, or…”

“Okay, okay. I get the point. It’s a dragon,” Merlin threw up his hands in defeat. “I just wanted to ask the question, that’s all. I didn’t want you to assume it was a dragon and go in unprepared, just because you _wanted_ it to be a dragon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asked.

“Look. Forget I said anything. I was just trying to help.”

“You think I want it to be a dragon, don’t you?” Arthur’s voice was cold.

“No. I just want to make sure you don’t go in wearing dragon-repellent flowers and get eaten by a bear or something.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and urged his horse on ahead of the group to take point. Arthur was driving him around the bend and he needed the distance to calm down. The ‘Dragon’ thing had got him worked up over nothing, he knew, and it was silly to fall out over it. Arthur probably wouldn’t just prepare for a dragon and a dragon alone, and his own… relationship with the Great Dragon behind Arthur’s back was making him act stupid.

What _would_ the Great Dragon do if it were freed, after all? Merlin had little doubt it would behave peacefully or kindly. It might not spend all its days eating innocent young women and burning down barns, but how could it not want some small measure of revenge for all the time locked in the dark?

Merlin had to remember that even though he wanted Arthur to realise not _all_ magic was bad, not all magic was good, either. He had Nimueh to prove that.

After about ten minutes, Arthur and Pax rode up to Merlin’s side. Merlin pressed his lips together and wondered what to say.

“I’m… sorry I raised my voice at you, Merlin. It… it was a fair question to ask,” Arthur offered, his voice careful as though walking on eggshells. “It can be hard trying to provide alternatives for consideration, especially to a Prince.”

“Yeah. I… I’m sorry I got annoyed with you. I… don’t _really_ think you want bad things to happen just so you can show off, or prove you can defeat magic as well as your father. It’s just…”

“It’s okay, Merlin. I… know it must seem like it at times.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes more. Merlin didn’t know what to say, but… he felt happier. They’d both been a bit of an ass, and both of them had apologised. It was… better. Every day they got on better. They got closer. And the Great Dragon’s insistence on their shared destiny seemed easier to believe.

“You will be a great King in your own way,” he said at length. “I… I mean that. A lot of people already think you will. And… you’ll do it Arthur’s way, not Uther’s way.”

“I hope so. But that will be when I’m King. And I have some way to go before then.”

Merlin looked over at Arthur, long and scrutinising. “You will do things differently, won’t you?”

“What’s this? Do I have to give you a list of what I will and will not do? Who is going to be King, Merlin?”

Merlin grinned, knowing there was no malice in Arthur’s reply. “You are, my Liege. But I still would like to know.”

“I’m still going to protect people from evil, Merlin. That’s not going to change.”

“But no more hunting unicorns?”

“Merlin, you are worse than a wife at times, you know?”

“Don’t you mean ‘better’?” He was trying hard not to laugh.

“No, I mean ‘worse’. Now stop being a git and come ride with us.”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” Merlin replied with a fist pounding his chest. 

Arthur laughed and grabbed some leaves from a nearby tree, flinging them into his eyes and turning Pax around to rejoin Oswald and Kay. Merlin squawked in protest but rode after him.

The question did weigh on him, but keep raising it wouldn’t do anyone any good.

***

As it turned out, they didn’t have to linger in the tree-line for long, waiting for an opportunity to stick to their cover and claim they’d overheard a commotion. They were not far out from Cragshead when a loud screeching wail alerted them to a problem. 

Arthur nodded and they urged their horses on – Sir Kay bringing up the rear as fast as he could – following the unhappy woman right into the village square.

“What is going on here?” Arthur asked, pushing up in his stirrups and pulling Pax around in a tight circle. The prince took in a full view of the village and occupants, weighing up potential support and problems.

The woman was in hysterics, clinging to the chest of an elderly man who was doing his best to calm her down. She wailed a man’s name over and over, sobbing in despair and pulling at her hair when she wasn’t holding on to the old man.

“My Eammon, my Eammon – he’s gone, he’s gone!” she cried.

“There, there… shh… Ingrid, Ingrid, please be calm, he may just be out washing his things… he may be back,” the older man was telling her.

“He won’t! He’s gone… gone! GONE!”

People were looking in confusion between the inconsolable woman called Ingrid and the four newcomers in the centre of the square. 

“What is going on?” Arthur repeated, staring down at one woman in a dirty apron with three children fighting to hide under it. 

“Her husband… he’s missing, your honour,” she told him.

“Missing?”

“Dwagons!” hissed the smallest of her three children, wiping his nose with the corner of her apron. His mother seemed too distracted to notice.

“Hush, it’s not a dragon,” said the man who was holding Ingrid. “The dragons are all gone. There’s some perfectly rational explanation for this?” Merlin noted that this was a question, and not a statement. The man didn’t sound wholly convinced of his reassurance.

“Explain why Eammon is gone, then! Answer me that, father!” his wife insisted, her voice rising to new highs.

“I am Prince Arthur,” he announced, voice level and carrying. “I am here with my men to visit your King… but this problem sounds like it needs sorting out before I can ask for his assistance. I am here, and my men are willing. Where is this beast, so that I might hunt it and slay it?”

There was a collective gasp from the gathered women and children, and one of the trio near Arthur squeaked loudly and then bit his fist in embarrassment.

“You can’t,” someone in the crowd said, weakly, but when Arthur demanded to know who had spoken, no one volunteered.

“I am Prince Arthur of Camelot, son of King Uther of Camelot: he who brought peace to the land of Albion by defeating the terrible wyrms that plagued her. I am Prince Arthur, and I will avenge your wrong, Ingrid. Just give me your pledge that I fight for your honour and your husband’s.”

Ingrid had stopped crying now and was just sniffling messily in the man’s arms. She stared at Arthur for a long, long moment.

“Good Sir Knight, y-y– I would be… honoured. If… if you did,” she stammered out.

“Where can I find this beast?” Arthur asked again.

“You can’t… Sir Arthur… please. This is not a matter for you, and there is no dragon,” the old man pleaded. “It is not… it is not safe…”

“I know what,” Arthur replied dryly. “I mean to change it. You say it is no dragon. How do you know?”

“I… I was there when the last beast was killed, here. Helped ruin all the eggs myself. I don’t know what it is, but it’s no dragon,” the old man told him. “I can show you where our people have gone missing, but I beg you…”

“Your assistance would be greatly appreciated,” Arthur told him. “As would anyone’s. On behalf of the people of Camelot, I want to offer you what protection I can.”

Ingrid let go of her father and threw herself on Arthur’s leg, babbling her thanks over and over, crying in happiness as well as shock and worry. 

Merlin wondered what on _Earth_ it could be if someone who had faced a dragon and won was feared of it. But he knew it would not be long until he found out.

***

The hunting party became Arthur, Merlin, Kay, Oswald, Ewan – the man who was Ingrid’s father and had offered to show them the way – and five other men from the village. Two were old enough to have young grandchildren: Hugh and Stephen. The other three barely looked old enough to have young children: Jack, Will and Peter. More had cautiously volunteered, but with Ewan riding one of Kay’s horses and the five young men on the rag-tag collection of broken mules and a battered looking cart-horse, Arthur had insisted he had enough support.

In truth, Merlin thought he was probably worried about wiping out the meagre remains of ‘adult’ men in Cragshead. If it was a dragon, it had an unusual taste for men and not young, innocent maidens. Wasn’t that what dragons were supposed to eat?

Merlin tried to picture the Great Dragon eating anything that could speak and have a conversation with him and somehow couldn’t manage to picture it. He’d not actually thought before about what he must eat, but he could vaguely imagine cows and maybe chickens. Horses at a push.

Almost as if sensing the thought, Bane whickered and shook her head hard. “Easy, easy. You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you,” Merlin told his horse gently, and she slowly pricked her ears from her skull and relaxed a little. A little, not wholly. There was still some wariness in her gait.

“Horses and dragons don’t tend to get along well,” Kay said loudly, but for once Merlin couldn’t find an undercurrent in the man’s tone.

“Few things get on well with _dragons_ , Kay,” Arthur drawled. “And how would you know?”

“My father told me,” Kay replied, simply and without malice. “He hunted with the King. Back when there were still wild wyrms.”

“Did he have any advice for you if you did run into one?” Merlin asked, wanting to stop the fight before it started. Arthur disliked people reminding him of his father for some… not so strange reason.

Kay laughed then. “Yes. Don’t. And if you must: strike and run. And take care lest you get baked alive inside your armour.”

“As helpful as ever, my father’s seneschal,” Arthur droned. 

“But a more honest seneschal you’ll never yet find,” Kay retorted but again there was no malice in his tone.

Arthur seemed to pretend he hadn’t been in the previous conversation at all and turned to the gaggle of men accompanying them. “Has anyone seen the beast at all? Or seen tracks? Broken branches, scales…?” 

“Branches, aye. Tracks… the ground is too grassy where people have gone missing, never seen a footprint yet. Plus, not many will come this far out these days now. Sorry I can’t tell you more.” Hugh sounded genuinely apologetic.

“Though…” Jack started, but stopped abruptly. “No. Never mind.”

“Any information can be useful, Jack,” Arthur told him. “It all helps us build up a picture.”

“Just… there’s been a lot of hair, recently. On branches. Sort of like… like a bear. But a bear wouldn’t kill all those people…”

“We don’t know for sure they’re dead,” Will jumped in, sharply. “It could be doing something… unnatural.”

Merlin heard the muffled snort of amusement coming from Kay’s direction, but as everyone seemed to be ignoring it he did too. It was safer to feign a lack of interest than try second-guessing how Kay’s horrid mind had ticked something over this time.

“Did you have bears before?” Arthur asked, ignoring the innuendo in favour of facts.

“The odd one. Not many. Hunters pushing them further and further back every year,” Stephen explained. “Like Jack said, though. Bear wouldn’t go to these lengths. Bear’s a simple creature. Simple needs.”

“What if this bear isn’t simple?” Merlin asked. “I… mean that’s the worry, isn’t it? That something’s got more complicated or more powerful than it needs to be.”

“The general idea, yes, Merlin. Thank you.” Arthur sighed. 

“No… no, it’s true, Arthur. Nothing ‘normal’ would do this, would it?” Merlin knew he was labouring the point, but he felt it needed saying.

“Yes. The general idea **is** that something is doing something it shouldn’t. That’s why we’re hunting it down. Magic bad, remember?”

Okay. That backfired a little. “…in some situations…”

“Things more powerful than they should be, doing things they shouldn’t? Bad. Very bad. So we kill them.” Kay was swiping his sword at an imaginary dragon-bear, smiling happily. He loved a good fight and whilst everyone around him became more serious, Kay would always get more and more excited. It helped with morale, if nothing else.

“Not necessarily,” Oswald cut in. “Merlin has a point. What about healing? Say something or someone was better than they should be at healing injuries… would you really say that was bad?”

“Depends who they heal,” Arthur said, after a brief pause. “They could heal bad people. And make the world worse. They might try to live forever. Even a little power is dangerous. A temptation. An unfair advantage.”

“But a lot? Enough to do good, and the knowledge to pick and choose?” 

Merlin was surprised by the vocal ally he had in Oswald.

“That! See: that. I’m sure there are people who would only use their gifts for good,” Merlin insisted. 

“This is where you try to make me give up the throne if I don’t agree people can be uncorrupted by power, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, arching a brow and looking down his nose at them.

Oswald laughed. “If you are offering it, my Liege…”

“I’m not,” Arthur shot back, with a long-suffering tone.

“So what would a good magical bear do?” the last young man – Peter – dropped in. 

“Or dragon,” Jack chimed in.

“Or dragon,” Peter echoed.

“Animals aren’t good or bad, though. Just… powerful or not,” Oswald told them gently. “Or, if they are good or bad… it’s the difference between a horse that takes the bridle and one that bites and spits. Not… not like the difference between a good king and a bad king. Animals… do things less.”

“Dragons are intelligent, lad,” Ewan joined in at last. “But I’m not sure as I seen a good one. Maybe they are as rare as good kings and men.”

Merlin was thinking hard, so hard he didn’t realise he was being spoken to until someone rode into his leg. He looked up to see Arthur frowning at him.

“Merlin. What do you think a good dragon would be like?”

“Oh. Uhm. I think…” What did he think? “Good dragons… would help people. They’d use their magic and their knowledge to help people – use them for justice – and when they fought, they’d fight evil. And use their strength and power to bring peace.”

“And only eat evil virgins?” Arthur needled.

Merlin laughed. “And only eat evil virgins. If there weren’t enough cows.”

“You say the weirdest things sometimes, Merlin.”

“I know, my Lord.”

It helped when your Prince asked you weird questions to begin with.

“Here,” Ewan interrupted them before they could get any weirder. “Here is where the first couple went missing. Or hereabouts. Smith was with them and went to relieve himself. When he got back they’d gone. No sign. No yelling. Nothing.”

The announcement fortunately took attention off Merlin before anyone could ask why he seemed to have a complete justification for – and protection of – dragons. The response did sound a little polished, because it was something he’d thought about a lot recently.

“How long ago?”

“A sevenday,” Ewan told them. “A few hours from now. Both fit, strong young men.”

“Did Smith mention anything weird – other than his two companions went missing?” Arthur asked.

The old man shook his head and then turned his head to look all around them. Trees, grass, rocks… it all looked normal enough to Merlin. _Looked_. There was a strange, prickly feel to the place that made his palms itch and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. _Something_ magical had been here. And this felt nothing like the dragon he already knew… which meant it was probably something else.

“You have mines, don’t you?” Arthur asked, standing up in his saddle and turning Pax slowly. Merlin wondered if Arthur was even aware that he had this habit.

“Yes. Yes we have mines.”

“Well, it would make sense for a dragon – or a bear – to be using your mines as a lair.”

“Unless it already lived there, and all the mining disturbed it,” Merlin thought aloud.

“You’re determined to protect this creature, even knowing what it’s done, aren’t you?” Arthur sighed.

Merlin shrugged. “I’m not saying it hasn’t done bad things. I’m just… offering up alternative ideas.”

“Merlin has a point, my Liege,” Oswald cut in quietly. “And if it is true that the beast has been disturbed, it might give us some better understanding of it, and how to handle it.”

“Are you proposing we offer to close down the mine to save its ears?”

Merlin was amused by the idea. “Well, maybe not that. But you could offer it somewhere else to live. Somewhere undisturbed.”

“Or you could use the fact that it hates a noise to hammer and drum until it goes blind with rage and kill it!” Kay whooped, and his smile was undiminished even as Merlin rolled his eyes at him.

“I like Kay’s idea best,” said the Prince.

“See?” Even Kay’s horse had picked up his rider’s enthusiasm, and was pawing the ground.

“It still might be easier to just offer it earplugs,” Merlin grumbled.

“You do that as a diversionary tactic, and once it starts trying to eat your kidneys we’ll charge in, deafen it and take its head back to Camelot as a trophy. And hopefully do it before you’re dinner.” Arthur looked to Ewan. 

“Now, if you could take us to the closest entrance to the mines – used or not – maybe we’ll find whatever it is that’s got everyone worried.”

“Aye, Sir. Course. This way.”

Arthur urged Pax to walk alongside Ewan, and Kay paired up with Will who had been watching him with growing awe. Kay loved a captive audience. The other villagers naturally fell in line with their friends, which left Merlin and Oswald bringing up the rear.

They rode in companionable silence for some time, just listening to the ruckus ahead. Then Oswald made him jump once more.

“He’s different, you know.”

“What? Who? Kay…?”

Oswald laughed and it was warm and low. His eyes glinted when he looked at Merlin intently. “Kay is something else entirely, that’s true. But I meant Arthur. He… is different to his father.”

“Oh. Oh. Yes. I know he is.”

“Sometimes I think he just repeats what he’s been told because he can’t let anyone know he thinks differently. Not… yet anyway. But when he is King…”

Merlin felt a cold wave wash through him. Why was Oswald saying this? Did he… know? Suspect?

“It’s okay, Merlin. You’ve nothing to fear from me. Or Kay.” Oswald patted his horse’s neck, looking away. “Or Arthur.”

“I… I didn’t think I needed to worry about…”

“Merlin. It’s okay. I’m fairly sure Arthur knows too. He’s just too afraid to admit it to himself yet. But one day soon he will.”

“Oh.”

Oswald still hadn’t said what _it_ this was all about yet. Although Merlin felt he had a rather good idea. After all… he probably wasn’t too subtle. Just… more subtle than Arthur, which was all he needed to be.

“We’re here!” Ewan called, loud enough to reach over everyone else’s conversations (including Kay’s). 

“Better catch up,” Oswald said, and spurred his horse to draw level with the front of the line. 

A moment later, Merlin did the same.

***

The entrance to the mine was larger than it used to be, or so Ewan swore. The opening was scratched over and over into deep rivulets that could almost be claw-marks. And there was fur. Dark fur. It had caught in the side walls, clumps of it that seemed to have been pulled out when the creature ran through the narrow tunnel at great speed. 

Kay whistled lowly through his teeth in appreciation. “That’s some bear.”

“And not a dragon,” Merlin pointed out.

“Not a dragon,” Arthur agreed.

“Unless dragons are furry now!” Will blurted, and then jumped when Kay clapped him loudly (and probably painfully) on the shoulder.

“That is somewhat unlikely,” Arthur told him, and Merlin knew the self-control it must have taken for him not to laugh. Merlin himself was hiding a grin behind his hand.

“So. A bear. A very big bear. Did you father have any advice for that, Kay?” Oswald asked, his voice sounding the height of innocence.

Merlin knew otherwise. Kay’s father was – whilst somewhat cleaner of tongue than his son – something of a legendary braggart, tolerated by Uther but a byword for tall tales to everyone else. And Kay had become his father’s greatest champion, meaning he would launch into tales of his father’s expertise and advice even without prompting.

Even Gaius had warned him not to mention Kay the Elder on their journey, and Merlin by now knew full well why.

“Bear? Oh yes. Bear are easy. Although to be fair, my father never faced a bear as big as this one! We’ll go down in the history books when they learn we felled such a creature. Think of it! Not even the Questing Beast was this big! Arthur, don’t you think?”

Arthur was trying hard not to smile now. Merlin was still amazed how easy it was to be calm in the face of monsters when you did it every other day.

“I think… it may be bigger. But we’ll have to see it to be sure. And in that case, maybe we should be asking Merlin how to kill it.”

“What? Huh? Me?”

“I don’t remember how I killed it, Merlin. You were there. You should probably tell everyone for me.”

Oh that would go down well.

“Uhm. Lances are probably best, then. Lot… lot of reach. And cover. Cover so it can’t just charge at you. Uh. It was kind of a blur, Sir. I… I’m not sure I remember.”

“From the mouths of babes, almost.” Arthur sighed heavily, shoulders rising and falling. “But the advice is sound. I want everyone paired, one armed with a lance and the other supplying a second and ready to pull their partner out of harm’s way. Merlin: you’re my second. Jack: you be Kay’s. Ewan: you be Oswald’s. Hugh: you for Stephen. Peter: you for Will. Everyone understand?”

There was a chorus of yeses, followed by shuffling as people moved to be closer to their assigned partner.

Bane pushed her nose underneath Pax’s when they drew close, her ears back and her eyes turning white around the edges in fear.

“Arthur… the horses,” Kay started. “The local ones might be used to it, but there’s no saying the others are. I… wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Arthur sighed. “You’re right. Okay then. Peter and Will: you two will stay out here with all the horses. I want you together so you’re not defenceless. You’re also the younger and lighter, so if you need to ride and hustle them all back to the village, you can.”

Will looked disappointed, but Peter looked relieved.

“Yes, Sir,” Peter snapped up higher in his saddle.

“Yes, Sir,” Will repeated, trying to look just as smart.

“Right then. Everyone dismount and we’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”

Bane sounded unhappy when Merlin jumped down from her back, but he held her bridle. “It’s alright. I’ll be back for you soon. You’ll be happier outside.”

The mare snorted, but stopped looking quite so unhappy. Merlin was convinced she could understand him. Maybe his tone, if not the words? She nosed at his ear in a friendly, horsey way and he laughed, patting her long neck before giving the reins to Will, who she seemed to like ever so slightly more than Peter. Which was not saying too much.

Pax was much more gracious about being left behind, though she also whinnied at her master and blew into his hand. Arthur murmured something soft to her, then handed her over as well, also to Will. The two mares huddled together as though for warmth.

It must be hard, deciding whether to take the men with families or the men with more future ahead of them, Merlin found himself realising much to his surprise. Hugh and Stephen were squaring their shoulders, but they didn’t look too happy to be here. And Will had been so ready to fight. Too ready, almost.

The tunnel was just high enough that they could hold the lances upright, so Merlin tucked several under his arm and hefted them onto his hip. Arthur already had one ready to throw. 

They were quiet. All except Jack, who seemed too bubbly for his own good. Kay shushed him and then they were walking in that eerie silence. After that, the only noise was Merlin’s own slightly rapid breath and the crunch of footfalls. The walls danced with hundreds of tiny specks of light as they passed.

First came the smell. Acrid and horrible, and more than just animal. There were the smells of unguents and incense mingling with fur and loam. The stink of it hit the back of Merlin’s throat and made him gag: his eyes streamed and he had to pull a sleeve down past his hand to press to his mouth. Even Arthur looked green. Worst of all the torches they carried for light seemed to burn the smell and the smoke was tinged a strange colour.

It was sort of anti-climatic when they found the bear. One moment they were walking through the hollowed-out tunnel, and the next they were in a cavernous expanse: a natural cave. Stalactites dangled like teeth high overhead, and below the rock was smooth. The light from the torches was swallowed by the large brazier in the middle of the room, a few feet away from what looked like several massive tents. 

There was a figure by the fire, but when Merlin tried to focus on it… it seemed to _ripple_ and his eyes ached trying to keep hold of it. Then in the place of the figure was a tremendous bear which stood easily ten or twelve feet at the shoulder. 

The bear had its back to the group and seemed not to have noticed it. For a moment they all stood silent in surprise. It didn’t last, though, because Arthur made the gesture to advance and started scrunching towards it.

This was enough noise for the bear, though, because it turned at once and reared, bellowing loudly and thumping its chest in challenge.

“NOW, MEN, NOW!” Arthur yelled and immediately all the villagers launched their lances.

Merlin knew – now – that Arthur wanted them to charge towards it and close the distance, but it was too late to explain that now. Kay and Oswald had held their lances and ran forwards, yelling and throwing hard once the bear was in range. This at least kept it occupied whilst the others re-armed with the second volley. 

The lances seemed to bounce off the creature, though, and it took a swipe at Hugh and Stephen who were now closest. Stephen managed to dart out of reach, but Hugh went down with a sickening crunch noise. Merlin had heard that before. He would be surprised if Hugh hadn’t broken at least two bones in that fall.

Jack cried out in alarm, but Kay was dragging projectiles from his hands to launch. Ewan had a grim expression on his face but was keeping Oswald armed. Merlin had far too much experience at this by now and was handing lances over as though it was second nature.

Stephen struggled back to his feet, and then the bear was between them and him, cornering him and fuming. Merlin couldn’t see the backwards scrabble, but he could imagine it. Could imagine the look on Stephen’s face. Hear the scream as a swipe of a paw made contact and sent him flying into the wall of the cave, only to land limply in a puddle of blood.

Arthur was incensed. Merlin watched as his Prince screamed in fury and threw himself at the monster, jumping at the very last minute as he drove the lance deep into the creature’s heart.

Or, should have done. The lance went in and in, Arthur bending over and over as the weapon was pushed ever deeper in. His feet dangled off the ground as the bear reared, and Arthur was left dangling from a weapon that by all rights should be causing the creature to die rather painfully – but rapidly.

Instead, it seemed to get just as angry as Arthur was now confused. Which was a lot. The roar made Merlin’s ears pop and he watched with a sinking feeling as the beast shook hard enough to throw Arthur from the pole and into a tent, which collapsed around him.

Kay shouted for Arthur, begging him to say he was okay. Everything seemed to slow, and Merlin felt an enormous… _tug_ of power as the creature pulled the lance free from its heart, then crushed the head with one paw. 

Merlin stood rooted to the spot, his eyes aching from staring where Arthur had fallen and willing him to move or speak – even if just a groan. 

He was surprised to find Oswald at his elbow. “Merlin.”

“…what the…?”

“Merlin. Don’t ask too many questions, but I think I know what is keeping that creature alive,” he said even as they watched Kay flip and draw his sword, hacking madly in a fury directly in front of him, fighting a path to his Prince’s side. Jack was now launching everything he had at the monster.

“What?” Merlin asked, desperate now.

“It didn’t die when Arthur pierced its heart. Which means it has none. I… read a lot growing up. If we can find the heart…”

Find the heart? What was Oswald talking about? Where on earth would he find a heart, if not where a heart should be? “I don’t… follow…”

“He’s removed the heart, and made himself invulnerable. Likely a great sorcerer. You must find where he has hidden it and destroy it. There is no other way.”

“And how do I do that?”

“That’s your job! Hey-up, come for more have you?” Oswald had drawn his sword too, now, and was hacking just as madly. Ewan had joined Jack in throwing things over their heads at the monster.

His job? Merlin’s blood ran colder at the thought of Oswald… knowing. He’d suspected he knew, but openly admitting even to someone as kind and considerate as Oswald was terrifying.

But there were more important things to think about. As ever. Arthur was down and who knew if he was even dead or alive. Hugh and Stephen ditto. Merlin dropped the lances in a clatter and ran around the cave, looking into one tent then the next. It pained him to leave his friends but he had to, if they were to survive.

Where would you keep it? If you were an evil, shape-shifting sorcerer… where, exactly, would you keep your heart?

Not this close. Something told Merlin that if he’d removed it from the safe-keeping in his ribcage, then the sorcerer would not risk everything by keeping it somewhere that could be damaged by an accident of flood or fire, or an over-zealous adventurer.

Outside. Outside. Something told him to run full pelt through the tunnels, and he followed the sudden sense of terrible purpose and importance, charging through a dark tunnel. Even without thinking he uttered the spell for light, and a bubble of blinding, beautiful light exploded into the tiny space. Deeper and deeper into the tunnel he went, twisting and turning through passages as he followed what now felt like the memory of a man on a mission, a man covering his tracks by wandering somewhere new and unknown: losing himself to lose others.

Merlin could feel the thoughts in his mind as he carried the box that would hold his heart. He could sense the power that had passed this way, preoccupied with the plan it had concocted. He could see the man in the dark robes, see the long, dark hair flowing over his shoulders.

_Left_ , his senses told him, and he banked sharp left only to find himself in a small patch of sunlight. There was a singular oasis of land, a bump in the hillside with only one entrance and exit. He couldn’t tell if it existed before, or if it had been created specifically for it. All he knew was it stank of evil much like the cavern had, and there was a pulsing power under the earth.

With nothing to help him, he scratched the dirt loose with his fingers, digging madly on instinct alone until his fingers touched cold metal. He dug furiously until most of the box was uncovered and he could prise it from the earth’s insistent grasp. 

It came all at once, sending Merlin flying unceremoniously backwards onto his ass. The box was a dull gold colour, wooden with a metal frame but no obvious hinges or openings. Merlin fumbled with it, before throwing it to the ground in disgust, hoping to bust it open. Unfortunately, though, the metal protected it and the box rang dully in a mocking tone.

“Fine,” he told it. “See if I care. I’ll get you open if it’s the last thing I do.”

Merlin grabbed the box and slung it under one arm, running back to Arthur and the others so hard his chest burned. He couldn’t follow the magical path back, but he could operate on the vague internal direction he maintained… and the humming the box seemed to make the closer he got. 

The humming turned into a beat, which turned into a knock. Knock, knock, knock. He could feel the heart reverberate inside, and Merlin shuddered at what it would look like inside if he did manage to get the box open. Knock, knock, knock.

Sweat dripping into his eyes, he turned the last corner and found himself back in the cavern. He caught a glimpse of Oswald, Kay and Ewan, but had no time to spare for the others. Instead, he ran straight for the fire, aware the bear had turned and was roaring what sounded eerily like a ‘No!’

The bear was running towards him, and only the fire stood between them. Merlin lifted the box and threw it into the flames with all his strength, and the bear leaped and cleared the air where the box had been merely a heartbeat before.

“No!” It was clearer this time, anguished and broken. There was a smell of burning wood and flesh, and the bear landed on Merlin’s side of the fire, but its fur was turning to ash and dripping to the floor. The bear reared onto its hind paws, head tipped back as it howled in pain. Then it clearly came to a decision and leaped: clearing the fire by mere inches.

The bear swept forwards with one last lunge of claws turning into fingers, missing Merlin’s chest by the barest of minutes. Merlin skidded to a halt, checking his forward momentum and almost hitting the curled up man at his feet. The man screamed, writhed, and then stopped. 

Merlin didn’t know what to do, so he… waited. Oswald walked quietly over, and prodded the dead man with his sword. The man rolled over to reveal a blackened hole in his chest where his heart should be, and Oswald let the body drop back and cover the gaping wound.

“Well done, Merlin,” Oswald told him, quietly.

“Well done indeed. But what _were_ you doing?”

“Arthur!”

Merlin felt the worry ease. He’d not been able to look for his Prince for fear he’d see him dead. And the man’s voice was now like so much sweet singing that he laughed out loud with delight. 

He took a step back, hand on his heart. Suddenly the run hit his legs and his chest and he felt woozy and sore. And grinning like a lunatic. 

“Yes, you fool, I’m always Arthur. Did you hit your head too?”

Merlin shook his head. Hard. Hard enough he felt a little dizzy. “No… no. Just… glad you’re alright.”

“Yes, well. So am I. But that still doesn’t explain where you went or what you did to kill that… magician.”

“It was a hunch of mine,” Oswald cut in, just as Merlin was about to attempt some half-hearted explanation.

“Oh?”

“I remember my… my grandmother told me tales, when I was younger. My Lord. She was just telling stories, she didn’t…”

Arthur lifted his hand. “Oswald. Please. I might not approve of magic, but I know there’s a difference between old stories and… and this,” he nodded at the dead man. “And your grandmother may just have saved us. So… my thanks to her.”

Merlin felt another weight come off his chest. Then he jumped as Kay came up alongside him and grabbed his head, pulling it down to kiss him on the crown.

“God bless grandmothers and quick runners, is what I say!” Kay pulled Merlin in against him until Merlin’s face was squished into his cheek.

“Uhm… me too?” Merlin stammered out.

“How is everyone else?” Arthur asked, turning to Oswald who was checking over a very woozy-looking Hugh.

“Bumps, bruises… a broken leg but we’ll all… hobble away from this,” the Knight told them.

“Great. Jack: you run and get the others. Oswald: you patch up those who need it. Kay, Merlin, you and I will check this place out… make sure there’s nothing else dark and nasty lurking.”

“And look for the missing men,” Kay added.

Arthur nodded. “Yes. And look for the missing men.” 

Merlin wondered why he hadn’t said that. Perhaps he had his reasons. 

“Ewan, do you recognise _him_?” he asked, nodding at where the bear-man lay on the ground.

“No… no. Never seen him before this day.”

“Anyone else?”

The other villagers all denied any contact with him, so Oswald found a blanket near the fire and threw it over the body. Burial would come much, much later. If Arthur buried him at all and didn’t burn the body. Burial would keep the body for the afterlife… but burning would probably… be safer. 

Merlin knew witches were buried in unconsecrated ground at the best, and at crossroads or burned if not. It was how you damned someone’s soul on top of their own sins whilst living.

The first tent they examined had a deck of cards, a small locked chest and herbs hanging from the rigging. Arthur kicked at things or prodded them with his sword, opening one bag of seed that hissed out onto the ground.

Jack arrived then, and Arthur sent him and Kay off to hunt with Will and Peter. They moved into the next tent.

“You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

The question came a little out of the blue, as Arthur lifted up a simple shirt with the tip of his sword and waved it this way and that, never actually meeting his eyes.

“…Sire, yes… of course I…”

Arthur cut him off. “No. I mean. You were… really worried. About me.” Frighteningly candid blue eyes bored through him, pinning him to the spot.

“Yes?” It was true, but that wasn’t quite why it sounded like a question. Sensible, eloquent Merlin would probably ask why the Prince seemed so surprised to find this out now. Even after the repeated life-saving. On both their parts. 

“You don’t have to… Merlin, it’s okay. When I came to, and I couldn’t see you, I…”

The Prince sounded strangely… awkward. Vulnerable. For a moment, Merlin worried that Arthur had somehow… what? Hit his head too hard? Was under the influence of some bad magic? What?

“No… Arthur. I know.” Compelled by the look of awful pain in his master’s eyes, Merlin reached out to touch the hand holding his sword. Arthur’s sword twitched and the shirt made a sharp cracking sound, that made them both jump.

Arthur looked about to say something when a cry from outside made them both jump, and with one last – resolute – look that promised this wasn’t over and Arthur had made up his mind, they both pelted out to see what the commotion was about. 

“Eammon! Everyone! We’ve found them, we’ve found them!” Peter was crying out happily, and they came out of the tent to see him dancing with joy. “We found them! We found them!”

Someone had hastily cut back the tent with a sword, it looked like, exposing a dozen or so pale looking men, all huddled in a bunch together with their heads down and their hair and clothes a mess. They looked wan and gaunt. 

As one the men peered up at their rescuers with a look of dumb disbelief.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. Prince Arthur and his Knights are here to save you,” Ewan was telling them, patting the closest and healthiest looking man gently on the shoulder.

“We’ll take you home. We have horses. Stephen, are there carts in the mine?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Excellent. You and Will fetch several. We’re going to have to put these people in them to get them home.”

“Yes, Sir!” Will said a lot more smartly, jumping to attention at once.

“Go.”

They didn’t need telling twice.

“Oswald, you and Merlin look to see if there’s anything you can do for them. Oswald you know Merlin studies under Gaius,” Arthur explained.

“Yes, and he’s the best physician to study under, I can tell you!” Oswald beamed. “Although I’ll bow to your superior knowledge, Merlin, what I think these men need most is food and water.”

“No… no, I agree. I’m sure you have more experience than I do.” Merlin shrugged lightly. “I’ll fetch the water.”

And suddenly they were stupidly busy once again and Merlin had no time to think about whatever it was Arthur had made his mind up about. Which was fortunate, because if he did have time to think he might have worried. But possibly not about what really was going to happen.

***

It was late in the evening when they finally got back to Cragshead. Oswald reluctantly let the men go back to their families and not stay under his eye overnight, with the promise they would come see him in the morning so he could check them over.

They were given a hero’s welcome once people heard what had happened, with cheers and women and children throwing themselves at legs, arms, or anything else they could reach. Merlin was embarrassed by the repeated thanks, the promises and the offers and the hands that sometimes touched where they shouldn’t go.

Eventually they holed up in Ewan’s house. At his insistence – after a lengthy argument with Arthur which Merlin was surprised Ewan managed to brave and win – Ewan went to Ingrid’s house and the four of them were given the small cottage for the night.

There was a large room downstairs that served for kitchen and everything else, with a ladder up to a loft with two small beds. Arthur and Merlin had been given the upstairs, whilst Kay and Oswald had volunteered to throw their pack rolls onto the floor downstairs.

Shortly after they finished their evening meal and Arthur’s debriefing, Oswald and Kay made their excuses and disappeared out into the night. This wasn’t entirely unusual, but it did leave Merlin and Arthur alone in what felt like a very long time. Strange how he missed it, even though by the end of their forest trek he would have thought he’d be glad to see the back of the Prince.

Merlin fussed over preparing and tidying, aware he was doing things the wrong way still. He’d been Arthur’s personal manservant for nearly two years and he still had no real routine. He’d no doubt Gwen would waltz in and have socks regimented and matched and probably smelling nice within five minutes if she did Merlin’s job.

Arthur climbed the ladders, taking a little lamp up with him. Another thing Merlin had failed to remember. 

Something was… wrong. Arthur was on edge and Merlin could tell… just not _why_. 

“Are you coming up here or are you going to push the same things around for another hour, then wake me when you finally climb up to go to bed, Merlin?”

Clearly his feigned industry needed work. Merlin smiled to himself. “Sorry, Arthur. I was… thinking.”

“Be careful, you might pull something if you keep it up.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m serious. Come up here and think in your own bedroom. I promise I won’t laugh if your lips move while you think in your head.”

There was nothing for it now, he’d been well and truly called out. With a long sigh, the sorcerer gripped the rungs and started to climb up. Arthur was already lying in his bedroll on one of the low, dubious-looking beds that was still better than Merlin had slept on growing up.

“I promise I won’t ask your opinion on anything too difficult for your lance-battered skull,” Merlin countered, sitting on his own bed which was right next to Arthur’s. With the pillow at the same end. Merlin decided not to ask about that, either, and pulled off his shoes and socks.

“What, boring plant questions? No thanks. I have important strategic considerations to occupy my time.”

“Like?”

“Breakfast.”

“Breakfast is a strategic consideration?”

Arthur nodded. “If we set out early enough, we can have bacon at the castle. Only if we get there while there’s some left.”

“Bacon. Heir to Camelot and you’re thinking about… bacon.”

Arthur grinned and poked a bare foot out to nudge Merlin’s thigh. “Have to keep my men happy and healthy, don’t I?”

That was a sobering thought. Merlin’s eyes moved automatically to the large white bandage that Arthur had finally consented to once he was in the cottage. He hadn’t wanted the villagers to see the bloody wound under his hairline. Merlin knew it must hurt a lot.

“You don’t take care of yourself, Arthur.”

“No. I have you for that, don’t I?”

The question was surprisingly gentle, and Merlin was confused by the way the conversation was turning. 

“You’ve hit your head worse than I thought…” He pulled the covers up and started to wriggle under them. A sharp hand around his wrist made him jump, and he was even more startled at the same intent… focussed expression on Arthur’s face.

“Or just enough. Merlin.”

“Arthur.”

It seemed the thing to say when your Prince had your wrist and wasn’t letting go.

“Merlin. I… I wanted to thank you. For being there for me. I want to say it before I think of a reason not to. You… have always looked after me. You, Oswald and Kay…”

“Sire, of course we look after…”

“No,” Arthur cut in, shaking his head. “No. I know the difference between loyalty and… well. I asked for you three along on this… insane adventure for a reason, and I’m… glad I was proven right.” Then he smirked. “And my father wrong. He was very impressed by your devotion, though. Did I tell you?”

Merlin nodded, and swallowed. This… was awkward, girly feelings territory, and he wasn’t sure what he felt about his hand being held away from him for so long.

“Yes, Sire.”

“Arthur.”

“Yes, Arthur.” Merlin couldn’t help but smile. “You did.”

Arthur looked down at the hand in his grasp. “You haven’t… I never hear of you with women, Merlin. Is… is there someone you have somehow worked out how to be discreet for?”

What in the? “Uhm. Sir. I’m… not sure why you’re asking me that.”

“Because I want you to be happy, Merlin. And… if you’re with someone, I would like to… give my blessing.” So why did it sound almost painful for the Prince to say that?

“I’m not with anyone, no.”

“Anyone? Merlin… it’s okay. Kay and Oswald are my two best men, after all.”

What? “I’m not sure I follow, Sire. Are you…?” 

Arthur was holding his eyes again, then he let go of Merlin’s hand and pulled his own back towards himself.

“Yes, Merlin. They are. It is… not common knowledge, though there are rumours. I would be grateful if you kept the information to yourself.”

Merlin thought he knew what Arthur meant. Kay and Oswald… lovers? That’s what he thought Arthur was telling him. And in truth, it made a hell of a lot of sense when he considered it for a moment. The two – whilst very different – were normally seen together, and Oswald was one of the few people who never seemed riled by Kay’s brash behaviour.

“Oh. Uh. No. Not… not that it’s a problem. I just… no. Sorry. I’m not with anyone at all. Hah. I just haven’t found… the right person.”

He hoped that didn’t sound pathetic. “Sorry.” Okay. Maybe keep apologising did sound pathetic.

But he realised that Arthur was blushing madly too, now, and wasn’t able to meet his eyes. Had he said something wrong?

“Sire?”

Arthur did not look up. “When I came to, and you were gone… Merlin, I was worried. More worried than I had any right to be. I ask you and all my men to put their life on the line for me over and over, but today I… today I regretted it. I regretted putting you in a dangerous position, because I realised that… you… were important to me.”

“Oh.”

Arthur did look up then, and smiled vaguely. “Yes: oh. Let’s not forget I’m going to have to ask the same of you again and again. For years. For as long as you are in my service.”

“And I’ll still keep doing what you ask, my Lord. Arthur,” he corrected himself, reaching out to glance against Arthur’s shoulder. “We’re stronger together. Your experience and my…” He laughed. “Luck.”

The Prince nodded. Smiled, very palely. “We do work well together, don’t we?”

Merlin was now utterly confused. He wasn’t good at this reading between the lines… or he was, and he really wished he wasn’t. Because what was coming through loud and clear from Arthur was just too… unexpected to make sense.

Or was it? If Kay and Oswald made sense, why not Merlin and Arthur? Weren’t they, after all, two sides to the same coin?

Arthur suddenly went green and shoved his hands down under the sheets. Merlin was alarmed, but wholly taken aback by what he pulled out from underneath.

A lock of silver hair. Long, woven tightly into a plait and fastened at each end. Even in the low light it seemed to glow from within, and he knew it at once.

“Unicorn hair… Arthur…” What did you say when your Prince… proposed?

“It… it’s just an old wives’ tale. It… doesn’t mean anything,” Arthur defended himself. “Well. Unless I want it to. Unless… _we_ want it to.”

Despite himself, Merlin reached out to touch. The hair was cold and beautiful. It sang with magic, deep and old. Deeper than he had sensed in the unicorn’s presence, so Merlin knew the sentiment was true from Arthur. He meant this, and it lent the magic to the moment that he could feel crawling down the back of his neck.

“But Arthur, you’re a _Prince_. You can’t just… marry a manservant because you want to! Think of your father.”

“Damn my father,” Arthur said, pushing the hair back in his pocket and going suddenly dark. The moment of hope and fear was gone, replaced with the pain of rejection and embarrassment. Merlin knew those feelings too well. “But you’re right. I’m insane. Please… forget I said anything. I… I just thought…”

“Would you tell her?”

Arthur did look up, frowning. “Tell who?”

“Your wife? Or… or would that be it? When you got married? I’m… I’m just not sure you should toy with magic as powerful as this. Not… not… lightly.”

A calculating expression came onto Arthur’s face now, and he bit his lip in thought. “If you… if things worked. I… I would want to carry on. I might have to marry a woman for Camelot’s sake, but… my heart…”

Arthur faltered. It pained Merlin to see him so nervous and exposed. But… really. This was… almost ludicrous. When Merlin had seen the resolved expression earlier he had no idea it was a resolution to do _this_.

He touched the breast pocket where he had seen Arthur stow the band of hair. Rubbed gently, feeling the pulse quicken underneath and the strange tightening at his touch.

“If your wife knew, and… agreed… I think… yes.”

It was much easier to say than it had any right to be. Such a momentous decision and yet… of course he knew. Of course he knew he wanted to be with Arthur forever. It was only what he’d been finding he felt every day since they had met, even when he still thought he was an utter dick.

The other parts of it? Well. Merlin didn’t have any experience of that, but by the power he could feel resonating from Arthur’s breast pocket, he knew it was a mutual feeling. And _that_ promise: that he was the first, that he was important… well. That made Merlin feel all warm and happy inside.

The fact that Arthur was a man… well. Merlin knew that men took lovers who weren’t women. Not much else about it than that it happened. But when he tried to think about Arthur compared to a woman… he realised it didn’t worry him. It felt… right.

“I wouldn’t marry anyone who wouldn’t agree. Not unless I had to. And then if it’s so important then… then… I will stay with her only so long as I need to so I have an heir and we will finish things properly. And I’ll explain this to her.” 

It sounded like Arthur had plotted this out. He wondered just how long the idea had been floating around in his head.

“I… yes. Yes. That would sound sensible.”

Plus Merlin could make sure she forgot and didn’t tell anyone, if he had to. Although he wasn’t sure if that was ethically sound or not, so he’d have to think about that for a bit longer. Not that he was sure he could tell Arthur about the magic… not just yet.

Which was hypocrisy of the highest order, of course. Merlin knew Arthur front and back, and was expecting him to arrange his marriage around their… affair… and Arthur didn’t know the most important thing about him?

But Arthur was smiling now, infectious and giddy. He riffled in his pockets and retrieved the thin band of hair, holding it out for Merlin’s approval.

“Will you?” he asked.

“Yes. But first I…”

“No, Merlin. No first. I’m going to put this on you, then I’m going to kiss you senseless until Kay and Oswald get back. And then we’re going to do our best to keep our hands off one another until we’re back in Camelot.”

“Camelot?”

“I’ve waited this long, Merlin. I can wait another few weeks. I… I want this to be special.” The reason sounded flat, like Arthur himself wasn’t sure how silly he would sound. He held out the bracelet and bound it firmly in place. Strangely it held and didn’t itch at all. “And… I want to make sure we’re sure.”

“Sure.” He couldn’t help himself.

“Stop that,” Arthur told him, his eyes laughing as he leaned forwards to kiss.

Which is when Merlin wished he’d taken Will’s advice and practiced kissing cushions, weird and horrible as the thought was. Because he was fairly sure he must kiss like a dead fish.

Arthur didn’t seem to mind, though, and the Prince held his face gently between two hands as though it would break. Merlin put his own hands on Arthur’s chest, feeling his heartbeat again and trying to work out where his lips and tongue were supposed to go.

Arthur broke the kiss. “Relax. I’m not going to eat you. We can learn this together.”

Ah. Yes. At least Arthur’s cautious optimism was inexperienced too. The second time was a little gentler, and Merlin eventually figured out that he should just move his lips softly too, and concentrate on the weird – but good – tingling sensations rather than any technique. And try to ignore the way other parts of him were getting interested… there would be plenty of time for that later!

***

The morning was weird. Merlin woke up to find Arthur had already left the bed and attic, and from the muted but cheery voices drifting up from below he realised everyone else was up and eating breakfast. There was also the most delicious smell of porridge and warm bread he could remember in a very long time. It was probably the smell that had woken him.

Merlin rubbed his eyes and stretched out on the bed, yawning broadly. He felt refreshed and relaxed. Then he pushed the covers down and saw the band of silver-bright hair about his wrist and startled: the memories of the night before coming flooding back.

That was… pleasantly unexpected. Merlin ran a finger over the fine threads and wondered if Arthur would think the same in the cold light of morning, seeing Merlin messy from bed and sleepy-eyed, kept awake by snoring the night before. (If he really snored. Arthur claimed he did but no one else had said anything.) 

Merlin wasn’t quite sure what he felt about what had happened either. It was… just nothing he’d ever planned for, and so different from all his vague ideas of the future that this new possibility made everything else he’d dreamed of… redundant. Or parts of it anyway. But he still thought the idea was a good one, still felt the tightening in his chest and the rush of blood tingling through his whole body when he thought about it. He still smiled inwardly at the earnest – but muted – declarations of… love? Of the night before.

The warlock decided he would play it by ear. See what Arthur said. See how he behaved. Make sure the offer was still valid.

“Now you join us,” was the first thing Arthur said as he climbed the ladder down into the main room of the cottage. “Thought you were going to sleep all day as well as all night.”

Not quite all night. Merlin fought a blush at the memory of their quiet kisses traded in the dark, of hands touching under the covers as they tried not to wake Oswald and Kay.

“Sorry. The bed was so comfortable I just… thought I’d stay,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“Nice not to be under trees and waking up every few hours to make sure you’re not eaten by bears, isn’t it?” Kay asked, and Merlin had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at him.

“Have you seen what the villagers gave us?” Oswald asked, his voice kinder and understanding.

“No, but I could smell it in my sleep!”

“Ah, if only I’d known the way to wake him up was to bake bread. I’d have moved his quarters to the kitchen months ago.” Arthur sighed.

“All of this? Wow. I didn’t think that they… uh…” Merlin trailed.

“Could afford this?” Oswald supplied.

“Uhm. Yes. That.”

“It’s alright,” Arthur cut in. “We’re going to pay for everything. We have the coin for it. But it is a welcome gesture this early in the morning… I wish everyone was as welcoming.”

“If they knew you carried good coin they might be!” Kay said, accusingly.

“And we’d be fighting off brigands more than we’d be fighting off princesses!” was Arthur’s reply.

Kay howled with appreciation and slapped his thigh. “Well said, well said.”

Merlin wondered if that meant Kay knew or not. He looked up from the hunk of bread and butter he was crunching and glanced at Arthur. Arthur just nodded once with a calm expression and Merlin got the hint not to ask just yet.

The Prince drummed his fingers on the table-top. “When we have eaten, I will give Ewan the coin and tell him to distribute it evenly amongst those who gave us food when we are gone. Then we will ride for Morham and tell Lord Brance that we were passing when we heard of the trouble, and we found and killed the druid on our way to visit him.”

They nodded in agreement, and Merlin decided to keep eating until he had something relevant to say. This was not very often, admittedly. It wasn’t as if Arthur would ask his advice on magical matters after all.

Ah. Yes. He still had to tell Arthur… that.

Not that he knew how.

“It’s a pity we can only have noble sons as knights, you know,” Kay mused. “Jack would be wasted as a squire. And that’s all he could ever hope to be.”

“I know,” Arthur said, his voice tinged with regret. Kay had to know about Lancelot. It seemed everyone did. “But rules are rules. And Jack would make an excellent squire if someone would accept him.”

Kay’s head snapped round. “You don’t mean me, Sire?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t need a squire! Why would I need a squire?”

“Who heard of a seneschal without a squire?” Arthur asked, his voice light.

“Sire?”

“Yes, Kay. Would I ever want anyone else?”

Merlin watched with interest as the boorish youth ran through a gamut of emotions: surprise, pride, shock… gratitude. Embarrassment. He even went slightly pink along the cheekbones. 

Oswald clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, my friend.”

Arthur held up a hand. “Of course, you will have to wait until I am King. And that won’t be for some time yet, I hope.”

“No… nor me! I mean, not that I don’t want you to be King. Just… well. I don’t want Uther to _stop_ either. I… uh… yes.”

It was the first time Merlin had ever seen Kay look lost for words, and he grinned. The look of innocent pleasure was heartwarming. Merlin realised suddenly that Arthur had planned this whole journey around the four of them. Maybe the reason for coming had been as much organising his close personal future as it was ‘forging links’ and attracting fresh – noble – blood.

“Done?” Arthur asked, nodding at Merlin’s bare plate and empty bowl.

Merlin burped, lifting his hand as fast as he could to cover his mouth. 

“I’d take that as a yes,” said Oswald.

***

The rest of the morning went on as normal. Arthur had yet to talk to Oswald, who was possibly the only one of the group who hadn’t been given a special position in the future of Camelot. Unless he’d done that first, without Merlin even noticing. It was possible.

Oswald seemed unperturbed, though. To be fair, he probably didn’t know Arthur and Merlin had done anything either. For all their situations were similar, the tact and slowness of Arthur’s approach made Merlin suspect the Prince was still a little… shy. And unwilling to make it public knowledge. This made perfect sense, of course. Who would marry their eligible, important young daughter to a man who had already sworn his heart elsewhere?

The more Merlin thought about it, the more he realised it was going to be hideously difficult to find someone who would agree to their terms of engagement. He personally didn’t think he’d feel jealous (but then he had no experience of this, so how did he know for sure?) but the new Queen very well might.

It was impossible to discuss this with Arthur, though, because they were riding so closely with Kay and Oswald. Kay was in jubilantly high spirits, singing and joking and bouncing in the cart. Merlin felt sorry for his horses. 

And then of course Arthur joined _in_. And the more Merlin tried to get Arthur to ride ahead with him, the louder the Crown Prince would sing bawdy rounds with Kay, laughing as Kay tailored fable-songs to fit him.

“Arthur. Before we get to Morham I want to tell you something.”

“I know, I know. I have a lovely singing voice and it’s only a pity I’m going to run a kingdom and not a troupe of jugglers.”

Kay crowed in appreciation. “I’m not tumbling for you, Sire. I’ll do many a thing, but tumbling isn’t one of them.”

Merlin didn’t see the warm smile that passed between Kay and Oswald at that, he was too busy being angry with Arthur. Why had he agreed to bed such an infuriating man, again?

“No… Sire I’m serious. It’s about the sorcerer.”

“If this is because you’re worried Brance is in cahoots with him… don’t. Ewan said he scourged his kingdom of dragons when my father first started his war on the fey folk. He’ll support us if we have to pull his land to pieces and back to find any sympathisers.”

Which took Merlin’s pretence for a discussion away. And was possibly the worst thing Arthur could have said to a man who was already having second thoughts about their unconventional arrangement.

“Fine.”

“Oh, lighten up, Merlin. It’s a good day. Can’t you just enjoy it? Must you always find something bad to brood over?”

What? 

“Brood over, Sire?”

“You don’t seem happy if you’re not agonising over something,” Arthur told him, even as Pax shook her head forcefully.

“Agonising… if you didn’t get us in so much trouble, maybe I wouldn’t have to worry so often!”

Arthur seemed confused by the outburst. In a way, Merlin was too.

“What _has_ gotten into you, Merlin? I’d have thought today at least you’d be happy for us all.”

“Nothing. I… I didn’t sleep well, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

It was a lie, mostly. They had been up fairly late, but once Merlin had fallen asleep he had stayed asleep and rested well. He nudged Bane’s sides gently and the mare knew to spurt ahead and give her master some space.

Merlin fumed and tried to bite back on the angry outburst, the words brimming in his mouth and threatening to spill over. He wanted to kick Bane into a gallop until they were both tired and breathless and far away. Away from Arthur, who clearly had some strange magic of his own that meant Merlin went crazy in his presence.

He imagined there was some heated debate behind him, and Merlin counted in his head to thirty-nine before someone rode up beside him. He was surprised that the number was that low, and also that it was Oswald who pulled alongside him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Merlin mumbled in reply. “Look… I’m sorry you had to listen to…”

“Shh,” Oswald cut in, lifting a hand to silence him. “Both of them have done worse in front of me before. Even _to_ me. Compared to them, you’re a big old pussy cat.”

Merlin couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Really?” he asked, weakly.

“You’re too good natured for it, Merlin. In fact, I’m surprised you even got that annoyed. I know men like you, and I know men like Arthur and Kay very well. They blow up regularly over little things. Men like you and me only shout as a very last resort. I’m right, aren’t I?”

The warlock realised he was, and nodded slightly. “I try… not to bring myself down to that level,” he said, cautiously.

“And it’s admirable that you manage to keep so level-headed around someone as incendiary as Arthur. It’s a testament to your character.”

Merlin didn’t know how to react to the compliment, so he simply kept riding. After a moment or two, he said quietly: “Thank you.”

“No problem, Merlin. It’s hard for some people to spot the quieter virtues: they’re too busy looking at the loud bravado and bawling of men like them,” he pointed back over his shoulder with a thumb. “And they miss the quiet heroes.”

Again a compliment. Merlin cleared his throat uncomfortably. “He’s welcome to the attention.”

“Not entirely true, is it?” 

Merlin looked up sharply. 

“It’s okay to want recognition for what you do, Merlin. Believe me. It’s just the same as everyone else feels. But that’s not what’s bugging you today, is it?”

He wished it was. Merlin looked straight forwards, unseeingly. Bit his lip. What did he say? How did he tell Oswald what he couldn’t tell Arthur?

“No.”

“But I’m not the one who needs to hear it, am I?”

Damn his perception! No wonder Arthur loved to have Oswald around. The man was even more diplomatic than Gaius, and he was a fraction of his age. 

“No,” he said, with a slight smile this time.

“I won’t pry. But I will tell Arthur that if he wants to keep you, he’ll listen to what you have to say, when you have to say it. You strike me as a person who knows when something needs saying. And Arthur needs to learn how to accept advice from the people he trusts. Like you… and me.”

There was an awkward silence again as Merlin tried to process all of this information, to decide what to say in return. He looked up with a weak smile. “Thank you… again, Sir Oswald.”

“Say nothing of it, my friend. Just remember that when the quiet person speaks, it’s usually wise to listen to him. Everyone should remember that.”

It was true. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t get the chance to talk just yet, because more pressing things happened first.

***

They were in sight of Morham castle when the young woman burst out of the little farmhouse towards them, holding her yellow dress up with one hand, the other waving madly for their attention. Her dress trailed in the mud despite her best efforts, and she stumbled a few times as she ran for them, shouting herself hoarse in panic.

It was a common sight by now, but Merlin didn’t think he would ever stop having the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw someone begging for their help, frightened for their life.

“Please, please! Are you Arthur? Please… Prince Arthur? Oh… forgive me I do not know how to speak to you, your highness…” The woman curtseyed awkwardly like someone who had only seen it done from afar, her hands trembling and her words coming out stammered and confused.

“I’m Prince Arthur. Please. Be calm and tell me the problem, so I might know if I can help you.”

“He said you’d come… he said you’d come… I’ve waited days and days… oh Sir, Sir, you has to help him. Please, good Sir.”

“Help whom?”

“Sir Percival. He said you’d come.”

***

Arthur ordered the stammering woman – Marian – onto the cart and they rode the short distance to her farm, where they were surprised to find an old man and several small children. Marian hardly looked old enough to be their mother, and the old man looked far too old to be their father.

“This Sir Percival… tell me what he looks like,” Arthur insisted as they stood inside the farmhouse at last, horses tethered in the small barn.

“He’s… same height as yon,” she said, pointing to Oswald. “Noble of face and voice. Pretty like out of a story. Hair colour of flame. Black horse, with a shield with no crest.”

“Percival of Fosse,” Arthur said under his breath and Merlin felt the sinking sensation in his stomach turn into a landslide. It was the only Percival Merlin knew, and he had liked the young man. He hoped no harm had come to him, but that was seeming less and less likely by the moment.

“Yes… he said Fosse. Fosse and Camelot. He said not to send for you, said you would come and… and save him. Oh, my Lord, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault…”

“Marian, I am sure it was a misunderstanding and I am sure we can sort this out. Why don’t you tell me from the beginning what happened?”

Marian nodded, drying the corners of her eyes with a kerchief. Merlin thought she would need several kerchiefs to stop the tears that kept springing from her eyes.

“Yes, my Lord. Of course.” She took a deep breath but kept her head down. 

“I was at market,” she started, “like usual. Since… since my husband passed on from the coughing sickness two harvests ago, it’s just been me to tend the farm,” she said, sounding apologetic. “It’s the only way I can feed my children and my father.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, Marian. Please. Go on.”

She nodded. “Well… there’s a…” 

“It’s alright, Marian. You can tell us,” Oswald said gently, walking to her side but not touching her yet.

“There’s… a Knight. Who… he says terrible things, my Lord! I knows I’m a widow, but… but he’s married and I’m not that sort of a woman. I’m not! I’d die first!”

Merlin was not entirely surprised. In fact, the only surprising thing was that Arthur seemed to have so many ‘honourable’ (if sometimes snobby) Knights in his own ranks, compared to the Knights of other kingdoms.

“And Percival overheard these comments?” Arthur guessed.

Marian nodded. “He… he challenged Sir Reuben. Reuben nearly killed him but the guard dragged Sir Percival away before he could finish him, and they’re holding him on grounds of treason, saying the… the…”

“Genealogist?” Merlin supplied.

“Yes… saying they can’t find him in the records. Saying he’s lying. He told them you had knighted him, my Lord, told them he was waiting for you to go back to Camelot and confirm it.”

Ah. This would explain a lot. Merlin watched as Arthur’s expression went blank. He was hiding his anger at Percival’s lie, no doubt. And his own guilt for inspiring the young man to stupid acts of chivalry beyond his own means, when Arthur thought he was still too young to be anything but a squire.

“I see.”

“So you’ll go set him free?” Marian asked, hope entering her voice for the first time.

“I’m going to ride to Morham now and sort this whole thing out,” Arthur replied, economically. 

“Oh, thank you, my Lord! Thank you! Please… I feel so wretched. If he hadn’t… if I…”

“This is not your fault at all, good woman,” Oswald told her, touching her elbow now. “Not at all. It is the dishonour of Brance’s Knight to blame. And we will see that the wrong is redressed, won’t we, Sire?”

Arthur nodded curtly and walked out of the farmhouse, his shoulders set in anger.

“Thank you… oh thank you, thank you all,” she repeated, over and over. “Thank you… I only wish I knew how to repay you, Sirs…”

“Nonsense,” Kay said, unexpectedly. “It’s why there are Knights. We’re here to help the… helpless.”

Not the most eloquent and tactful declaration ever, but Marian seemed to appreciate it. Merlin took this as a good point to slip out and go after Arthur. The air wasn’t clear between them yet, but he knew Arthur would be agonising over this and he wanted to offer his support.

He stood watching him for a moment, merely letting Arthur know someone was waiting to listen. It worked.

“Why did he have to do that?”

“Because he has a good heart, Sire. Much… much like Lancelot.”

“Why is everyone suddenly so ready to do stupid things for the sake of honour?”

Merlin smiled. “Like you?” he asked, gently.

“It’s my job, Merlin. No one is making these people,” he waved a hand broadly to indicate Lancelot and Percival and maybe even Jack, “do the same.”

“No. No one is making them. They _want_ to. They see what you do, and they want to do the same. They want to do _good_.”

“And lie to do it?” Arthur asked, spinning on his heel to face Merlin.

“If that’s the only way they can do it. Who would listen to the son of a nobody, or a young nobleman searching for a purpose? Who… who would listen to the son of a villager like me?”

“Merlin… that’s different.”

“Is it? I’m your manservant, Arthur. I only have that position because I was in the right place and the right time to help you. If I wasn’t, I’d either be studying to be a terrible physician under Gaius… or I’d be back herding chickens.”

“You don’t ‘herd’ chickens, Merlin.”

“Precisely. I’d be rubbish at that too.”

“You know I don’t… like the system either, Merlin… but it’s there for a reason.”

“Why? So you can have idiots like Reuben freely insulting widows, and people like Lancelot and Percival desperate to do good things but barred forever from doing them?”

“You can’t promote someone out of their station, Merlin. The nobles wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what? You said yourself you don’t have enough men. You travelled half way across Albion to find them. And when someone with a good heart throws himself at your feet… you kick him to one side?”

“Merlin, Percival _lied_.”

“One mistake. One little mistake. Arthur, think of all the _good_ he could do for you. Think of it.” Merlin paused. “Think of all the things _I_ have done for you.”

“That isn’t fair…” Arthur started.

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s… it’s different. Merlin, how can I protect someone whose very first act is to lie? Just like Lancelot?”

“Change the rules. Then they won’t have to lie.”

“I’m not King!”

“No, but you will be!”

Then there was an impasse. Merlin stared at Arthur, Arthur stared back. 

“Tell me you don’t want to be a Knight, Merlin,” Arthur finally said, slumping slightly in defeat.

“I don’t want to be your Knight, Arthur,” he replied gently. “I want something else.”

Arthur smiled wanly. “I suppose I am a little bit of a hypocrite if I don’t believe in change, aren’t I?”

Merlin nodded. Glanced over his shoulder.

“And what about… magic?”

Arthur was going to reply, but of course this was when Oswald and Kay loudly opened the door and headed to the barn.

“…later,” Arthur told him.

It would just have to be. Again.

***

They rode in silence to begin with. For once, Merlin could tell it was Oswald who was desperate to break it. He – probably – hadn’t heard Merlin’s conversation with Arthur, and he was desperate to know what they would do about Percival. He likely felt guilty too, because he’d been the one to paint such a wonderful picture of Knighthood, and chivalric life. He would feel this was his fault too. 

Eventually, Oswald cracked. “Sire… please. He’s just a young boy. Marian’s honour was at stake.”

“I know very well what was at stake, Oswald.”

“But Sire… what else could he have done? If he’d challenged him without the Knight’s Code, they would have executed him at once. And no guard would ever listen to some stranger over their own Knight…”

“Oswald. I know. Please credit me with some intelligence.”

Oswald fell silent again. 

“I’m with him,” Kay said at length. “Find another seneschal, if you must. I can’t let some oaf get away with…”

“Will you all calm down, please?” Arthur asked, sounding exasperated. “I want to speak to the boy first. If… if his heart was truly in the right place, and he repents his lie, then… then we’ll see.”

“Thank you,” Oswald replied, very, very softly. 

“I can’t let everyone claim the sanctuary of my sword, or it makes a mockery of the very Code he was trying to uphold,” Arthur explained. “It’s not as simple as just him: it’s everyone else too.”

Merlin could see the sense in that, and the decision was a painful one. 

“Of course. Forgive me,” Oswald replied. Merlin could hear the sudden realisation in his voice too.

“Now all of you be careful not to give the game away. I… will use my best judgement. I don’t want anyone to know either way before I’ve made my mind up.”

“Yes, Sire,” Kay said at once, sombre. 

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin added, and Oswald shortly after.

“And don’t forget we still technically killed what could have been a subject of Brance’s in the last village we were in. So we don’t want to upset him any more.”

Oh, yes. That.

***

They charged through the gates and clattered to a halt in the centre of the courtyard, barging past various guards and merchants.

“Take me to your cells. At _once_ ,” Arthur demanded, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Merlin held Bane level with Pax, on Arthur’s right. He also had his hand on his sword: the people of Morham wouldn’t know that Merlin was not a very skilled fighter, after all, until they had seen him in action.

“And you are?” said a Captain of the guard, approaching slowly and keeping his distance from the armed and crazy man.

“Prince Arthur of Camelot.”

On cue, all three drew their swords and pointed them to Arthur. “Camelot!” they cried.

The Captain of the guard sighed. “Right. I suppose you should follow me, then.”

Arthur dismounted in a smooth movement and held his reins out to Oswald. Merlin resheathed his sword and did the same, passing his own reins through Pax’s to link the two mares together.

“And let your Lord Brance know I will see him when I am finished there,” Arthur continued, haughtily. 

The guard looked back and forth between the newcomers, eying up the potential risk from them compared to his King. Evidently, Arthur won for the moment. The guard nodded at a young boy who took off at once.

“The cells are this way, my Lord,” the guard said.

“Merlin, you come with me. Sir Oswald and Sir Kay, you stay here. And if we don’t return in an hour, you have my permission to act accordingly.

“Sire!” they both replied, snapping to attention on horseback and in cart-seat.

“Sire,” Merlin bowed his head, acting the part of the sage adviser and personal guard, though he felt woefully too young for this job. And woefully unarmoured.

“I take it you’ve heard the tale this one was spinning?” asked the portly guard. He and two reluctant-looking others were escorting them. “We didn’t send out a message, but we know word gets around faster when it’s secret anyway.”

“We got the message,” Arthur replied curtly.

There was no indication if it was correct or not, and they were betting on the guard being too timid to ask such a difficult question immediately. Merlin tried not to smile at the man’s confusion, and it was only the seriousness of Percival’s condition that kept him sober.

The cells were horrible. If Merlin had thought Uther’s dungeon was dank and horrid, he’d seen nothing like this. The walls were slick and oily with some form of slime, the air was thick and rank. Perhaps he had only seen the ‘good’ parts of Uther’s dungeon, but he somehow doubted that Brance’s best cells would be as good as Uther’s worst.

Eventually they were brought to the furthest cell, where a huddled form could just be made out in the darkest, furthest corner. Arthur snapped his fingers for a lamp and was given one. Merlin automatically lifted a hand to take it.

“I want to be in his cell,” Arthur told them. “And then I want time alone with him.”

The guard did not look convinced. 

“You can lock me inside, and leave Merlin outside. And then you will leave and only come back when Merlin comes to fetch you. Do you understand that?”

“I… uh…” the guard looked flustered, and Arthur took a pace in his direction, closing in on his face. “Yes! Yes. A few minutes. A few minutes, is all. Then… then Brance will send someone in to get you anyway.”

Arthur didn’t react. He just stood, waiting. Eventually the guard excused himself and darted past to open the cell. Arthur paused before he walked inside, staying close to the cell doors as they were locked behind him.

“Go,” he said, simply, and they went.

Merlin was surprised how easily the guards acquiesced. He wondered if they would do the same for any noble: whether they came from Morham or not. It was a chilling idea, in a way. Merlin knew Arthur’s men would never have folded so easily.

He walked over to the cell door and peered in. Arthur reached up to hang the lamp from a hook on the wall which probably was intended for something a lot less pleasant. In the corner, the bundled figure that was most likely Percival curled up protectively, turning its head away from the light.

“Are you going to look at me or not?” Arthur asked, his voice quiet but the tone blank.

The person under the coarse blanket moved, and Merlin could only catch glimpses of his face, but enough to see that he was hiding a hideous bruise over one eye. 

“I want your explanation. If you don’t give it to me now, I will walk out of here and tell them to flog you like the lying fool you clearly are.”

Percival straightened at that. “You’re going to do it anyway. Sire. Why should I beg and grovel when my pride is insulted as it already is? How will making myself feel even more of a miserable dog do anything but make _you_ feel better?”

Arthur kicked the other man, and Arthur heard the thud of his boot and was surprised that Percival didn’t grunt or even flinch. 

“Because _you_ have undone any good I might have hoped to do here. _You_ have – single-handedly – jeopardised the people in a local village who were stupid enough to hope I could help them without incurring the King’s wrath. Because _you_ have made any alliance between Camelot and Morham a hundred times more difficult, and made my journey here _pointless_ ,” Arthur spat.

There was a pause. Merlin held his breath as the two men stared one another down. Arthur was right, of course… even if Merlin felt sorry for Percival.

“Well I suppose that depends on what you think is more important, _Sire_ ,” Percival replied, his tone sharp. Not a good move. “If alliances are more important, or the Code of Honour you spoke about when you came to Fosse. What use is an alliance if you make it with those who hold in contempt everything you claim to hold dear?”

Arthur seemed to stop, as though he were moving forwards and he hit a wall. Merlin didn’t know if this was real, or if it was part of some larger plan to make Percival talk. Arthur danced the line between brilliance and anger so finely at times.

“Explain yourself,” Arthur told him, simply.

Percival pulled the blanket off himself, let it fall to the dungeon floor. Underneath it, Merlin could see the man was bedraggled and gaunt. How long had he been here? The bruise over his eye matched one on his neck, and his knuckles were split. Dirt caked his pale skin, and his tangled, matted hair.

“They did this to me. Why? Because I upheld a woman’s honour. One of Brance’s so-called _Knights_ was about to force a woman into his bed against her will. What did you expect me to do?”

“What do you think I expected you to do?” Arthur asked, his voice giving nothing away.

Percival laughed. “Tell the guards? Who would likely beat me up and throw me in here for a night to teach me a lesson? Watch? Kill him like a dog and end up hanged?”

Arthur didn’t say anything. Percival laughed.

“I don’t know, Sire. I don’t know. I just knew that if you were here, that you would have challenged him for the lady’s honour. If what they say about you is true. And… I suppose my error was in not being born Prince Arthur of Camelot. They didn’t dare execute me without knowing for certain I was no Knight of Camelot… but now they do I will at least die content I die for a good reason, and I will feel no regret for my own actions.”

Arthur listened throughout, and then he nodded. “Very well. Kneel.”

“What?”

“I said kneel, Percival. If you claim to be one of my men, you should show you can act like one.”

The young man looked utterly baffled, but after a pause… he moved awkwardly to his knees.

“I wanted to make sure you did what you did for the right reasons. I allow my men some freedom in how they act, if I can trust their decisions come from the heart. You were wrong to take Camelot’s name in your defence, but you did so whilst upholding her principles.” Arthur drew his sword.

Percival looked even more confused now. He didn’t dare look up.

“Merlin, I wish you to bear witness. By the power vested in me by my father, King Uther of Camelot, I dub thee Sir Percival of Camelot. You will swear with your life to protect her from her enemies, you will serve her King and people… and you will champion right, wherever you go.”

“…my Lord,” Percival stammered, visibly trembling under the sword on his shoulder.

“Do you swear?”

“I do, my Lord,” Percival promised. And Merlin doubted anyone had ever sworn that oath _quite_ so fervently before.

“Then arise, Sir Percival. Arise and serve.”

“I will, my Lord. Until my dying breath.”

“Merlin, go and tell the guards that I demand to see Lord Brance to demand the release and satisfaction of my Knight.”

***

“My men tell me he shows up in no heraldry,” Brance said, angrily. “His family, yes, but if the record does not lie he is hardly old enough to be…”

“Are you questioning the Crown Prince of Camelot’s integrity or judgement, my Lord?” asked Oswald quietly. “Or both?”

“Lord Brance was merely explaining _why_ Sir Percival’s story may have seemed… less than trustworthy,” said an advisor who stood close by the right side of the throne.

“I see. And now you understand that your own judgement was lacking?” Oswald suggested quietly. 

The advisor frowned. “It was still the most likely…”

“And because of ‘most likely’, Sir Percival has been treated worse than a common thief, for the honest challenge of one of your men,” Arthur cut in.

“We are sorry for that… and if Sir Percival would like to uphold his challenge to Sir Reuben…” the advisor started, clearly trying to keep his king from saying something unfortunate. 

“I do demand satisfaction,” Percival said, before the man could finish. “Tomorrow. At dawn. No shield.” He threw down a glove, then turned on his heel.

It was Oswald’s glove. Merlin had seen Oswald give it to the new Knight, as well as brief him on how best to draw Reuben out. 

“Now listen here…” Brance started, but on Arthur’s cue all four of them turned and followed Percival out and to the quarters they had hastily been assigned.

Merlin felt the back of his neck and his ears burn all the way to their rooms. He was convinced that someone would attack him as he walked away. A sword or a knife to the back, a bow and arrow… maybe just a punch to the head. He was not used to storming away from Kings and their court, no matter what Gaius thought.

Hopefully the advisor had calmed Brance down, however, reminding him that there had been a wrong and that Reuben was the perfect one to take the fall. That Camelot’s reputation was strong and grew stronger day by day. That it wasn’t a good idea to slaughter Arthur and his men in the corridor after a huge misunderstanding. 

This was the bet they had taken of course, discussed in hurried murmurs moments before their formal presentation to the court. 

They got back to the rooms – only just big enough for four – and all crammed into Merlin and Arthur’s room.

Merlin was gratified to see that Percival’s hands trembled as much as his own.

“Are you sure that was wise? I mean… shouting at a _King_ like that!” he asked, his eyes roaming from one to another, trying to gauge reactions. 

Kay grunted in amusement. “Sometimes even Kings need shouting at. And he knows he’s in the wrong here, so he hasn’t a leg to stand on.”

“As much as it pains me to agree, Kay is right,” Arthur told them, grimacing. “Some Kings do need shouting at. But I advise you all not to make a habit of it.”

“What happens now?” Merlin asked, because he could see Percival wanted to know but was too shy to ask. 

“Percival has demanded satisfaction from Reuben. Which is when we hope that Percival has experience with a sword and shield,” Oswald explained.

“Or he’ll be the Knight of the shortest time ever!” Kay joked.

Percival looked pale. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry. You said you had… brothers? And they were all Knights?” Arthur asked. He paced over to Percival slowly, a hand on his arm above the elbow.

“Yes… but I was only their sparring partner, I was never… I mean I learned a lot but not the same as they did…”

Arthur gripped Percival’s arm. “You will have picked up a lot more than you realise. Even Merlin can do a half-decent job, and he spent most of his time wearing a tin suit while I landed blows on him.”

“Thanks, Sire,” Merlin replied, trying to sound deadpan.

“You mean… that’s actually a way Knights train?” Percival asked, looking shocked.

Kay was trying not to snigger. Merlin could tell.

“It… some Knights do, yes,” Arthur replied, and Merlin felt vindicated that he had complained to Gaius that Arthur had been deliberately making his life a misery to begin with.

“I…” Percival looked ashamed. He stared at his feet. “I hated when my brothers did that. I… always thought they were using it as an excuse to make my ears ring and cover me in bruises.”

“Percival? Look up. Look at me,” Arthur told him, and he obeyed. “Part of being a Knight is bruises and ringing ears. It’s a good way to remind young men that it isn’t all glory. Everyone wants the glory, but not everyone can stand the discomfort that we have to go through to _get_ the glory. Your brothers did you a good favour: I can see you’re willing to work. Or you would never have walked out of that dungeon as proud as you did. You would have admitted to your lie and begged for clemency.”

Percival nodded, and Merlin watched as he set his shoulders back, the compliments making him stand taller.

“That is why you will fight for Camelot, and for honour. And that is why you will win,” Arthur went on.

“And if you don’t,” Oswald added, quietly, “everyone watching will know who was the real Knight.”

“I understand,” Percival replied. “I am ready.”

Arthur smiled. “Oh no. Almost, but not quite.”

***

They rode out into the forest: Arthur, Percival and Merlin. Kay and Oswald stayed behind to prove that they had not fled from cowardice. They rode into the forest until they found a clearing sheltered enough from prying eyes, but wide enough to give them room to spar. Merlin took Pax’s reins and – after a moment of insisting – the reins from Percival too.

“You can accept help when it’s offered without being a bully like Reuben,” Merlin told him gently, then went to hitch the three horses.

“Merlin is right,” Arthur said. “Part of being a Knight is to gracefully accept help. Which is why you’re going to let Merlin act as your manservant tomorrow morning.”

This made sense, but Merlin was still a little surprised to hear it. He had helped Arthur to dress himself for most of the journey, but Arthur had never extended his services to anyone else.

He hadn’t dressed Arthur since the other man had kissed him, though. Merlin was grateful, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to touch his Prince in the same way again, and it was difficult enough not to think about his body already. Merlin knew it intimately already, so it wasn’t even a case of imagination. It was just… now it was hard not to think of him like… _that_.

“I don’t need a manservant, my Lord! I…”

Arthur shook his head. “You do. Tomorrow you do. You want everyone to look at you and see how gracious a Knight should be, and how others should be grateful for the protection you provide. You stand for all Knights tomorrow, Percival. Not just for the widows. You need to show them how we _should_ act, and the respect we _should_ command. Willingly.”

“I understand.”

Merlin spread a tarpaulin over the grass, and opened the bundle of armour he’d brought. It was a mixture of Kay’s and Arthur’s own armour, because Percival was Kay’s height but Arthur’s build. Oswald was much shorter than all of them.

“Just stand still and pay attention to how carefully Merlin prepares you,” Arthur instructed him.

Merlin knew this ritual well. He knew the order in which to place on the cuirass, the greaves, the breastplate. He knew how tight to fasten buckles, how to tug the chainmail so it didn’t chafe. 

It was strange to do this to someone who wasn’t Arthur. Stranger still to have Percival be so silent and appreciative, and to have Arthur watching. He wondered if Arthur was imagining this happening to himself, as much as Merlin was thinking about doing it to him. He would have to do it at some point, have to touch Arthur in public and not let anyone see how much he enjoyed it.

“You have learned humility and the value of honour,” Arthur said as Merlin moved behind Percival to do the very last checks. “But heart alone is not enough.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Your brothers did an admirable job in starting your training, but they did not complete it. Normally I will not accept someone as a Knight until they have proven their worth in battle,” Arthur went on. “And so it is time to start to finish your learning.”

“I am honoured, Sire.”

Arthur smiled. “We’ll see if you say that when I’m done with you. En guarde.”

Merlin held his sword up. It was one he’d bought from Gwen’s father. It wasn’t as much of a masterpiece as the sword the Great Dragon had enchanted, but it was still a lot better quality than he had paid for. 

Percival clasped the hilt reverently and lifted the sword in front of him. Arthur in front of him wore the armour Percival wasn’t wearing. He hadn’t put on the helmet though.

“Attack me,” Arthur told him.

Percival wavered, but didn’t strike.

“Attack me. Do you think Reuben will wait until you’re comfortable? Strike!”

Percival stepped forwards and swung down towards Arthur’s neck. Arthur laughed and leaped back, swinging his own sword down and pushing Percival’s back and away. With the sword held down, he brought his outside foot up and around, smacking the Knight on the backside.

“Better, but don’t over-swing and lose all your strength,” Arthur told him, standing back into a guarded position. “Again.”

This time Percival thrust instead, making Arthur jump to the side to avoid it, but as Arthur’s sword-hand came around to lay the flat of his blade into Percival’s side, the other man spun on his foot and clashed their swords together.

“Better still!” Arthur said, as they locked together, pushing for control, but neither of them gaining much ground.

Merlin watched critically, trying to see if he could find evidence that Arthur was holding back to give Percival confidence, or if Percival was similarly holding back because Arthur was his Prince and not fully protected. He couldn’t, which… was a little worrying.

Meanwhile Arthur had broken the deadlock and the two were circling, occasionally testing the other’s responses with a thrust that was rapidly parried. It made Merlin dizzy to watch them.

“Watch to see if he holds anything back from you. He’s older. He might have injuries from previous fights. See if he favours a knee, or a shoulder, and push it. But don’t over-do it, in case it’s a ploy meant to draw you in.”

How were you supposed to tell if it was a ploy? Especially in the middle of a pitched fight? Merlin was having enough difficulty as an observer.

“You mean like your left knee?” Percival asked.

Merlin stared closer and realised that Arthur had indeed been keeping it back. 

“Exactly.”

But that was a ploy, Merlin knew, because he had seen Arthur fight normally, had seen him ride for hours. He would know if Arthur was carrying an old injury.

Percival didn’t know this, so he switched the direction they were circling, so he was pressing with his sword counter to their movement, and then he smacked blades deafeningly loudly, pushing Arthur backwards in a flurry of blows… before planting his foot and swinging a roundhouse kick to Arthur’s chest.

Arthur responded by cracking a gauntlet to his knee, and Percival cried out, landing heavily and only just bringing his defence up in time to block the blow aimed at his head.

“You’re younger. You should be able to go longer. Wear him down before you try any heroics. Don’t just burn out with pointless, flashy moves.”

Percival was on one knee, and barely holding Arthur’s sword up and away from him. Merlin could only guess how tired he already was. Arthur was a hard taskmaster.

“Yes, Sire.”

“And don’t be afraid to go for a cruel hit,” Arthur added, pointedly. “The rules of chivalry apply, but not to the groin.”

Percival laughed. Then he rocked his weight onto his good knee and pushes upwards, his sore knee headed straight for Arthur’s crotch.

Arthur danced away, which made Merlin smile. Who wouldn’t pull back from that? Then they were back on their feet again and Arthur was charging at Percival, swinging madly left and right.

“Get him angry. Get him unsteady. An angry opponent isn’t thinking. An angry opponent makes mistakes.”

“Yes, Sire,” Percival replied, though his voice sounded strained. It was difficult to talk when you were fighting for your life. And although Arthur wouldn’t kill him, Percival had to know that if he didn’t learn fast it could be him dead tomorrow.

“And don’t get angry yourself. No matter what he says.”

Oh. Merlin knew what was coming next.

“Even if he says you’re a useless bastard, and I Knighted you out of pity for your whore of a mother, and that’s why you protect the local prostitutes.”

Percival stiffened, and Merlin could sense that Arthur had hit a sore point. “Yes. Sire.”

“Or did you want her?” Arthur asked, and Merlin saw the anger even through the armour. Saw the way Percival’s swings grew wilder and less controlled, saw the moment he laid himself open and knew Arthur was going to kick him to the floor and place his toes over Percival’s wrist, sword to his throat.

“Anger lays you wide open,” Arthur said, pressing gently with his foot to stress how close he was to disarming him. “Get it out of you _now_ or he’ll kill you in five minutes, and Camelot will live with the shame.”

“My mother was not a whore! Nor was Marian! She is a good woman!”

“I know that. Reuben doesn’t care. To him, all women are the same.”

“But Sire!”

“You know better. But you can only teach people by being calm and sure. Otherwise you’re just as much a hot-blooded monster as he is.”

Merlin watched the two men staring at one another. He couldn’t see Percival’s eyes, but he didn’t need to. For a moment, he held his breath. How could Arthur think you could just… order someone not to be angry?

But – somehow – it worked. Percival slumped. “You are right, my Lord. I am sorry.”

Arthur stood back, sword away from his throat. Then he held out his left hand. “And you’re wise enough to listen, Percival. But not everyone will listen to reason, which is why we have to carry these,” he said, hefting his sword.

Percival straightened himself out, then stood proud again. “I am ready for my next lesson, Sire.”

“Good. Footwork.”

***

They practiced hard until the air started to get chill, and Arthur insisted they had trained enough. Percival looked ready to protest, but then he checked himself and agreed. Merlin stepped in to undress him, and Percival thanked him quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Merlin told him. 

The warlock wiped down the equipment once he had removed it all, taking care to remove mud and sweat to prevent it from rusting the metal. He bundled it together as the other two warmed down at Arthur’s insistence.

“This is as important as preparation,” Arthur told them. “Otherwise you might not even be able to walk in the morning. Trust me.”

“I do, Sire,” Percival told him, sincerely. “Thank you.”

Arthur shook his head. “You can thank me after tomorrow. And you can do it by never giving up your principles, and by following me like you did today.”

“I would like that, my Lord.”

“You don’t have to call me that all the time. In public, yes. But you can pay me respect without using my titles, you know.”

“Thank you,” Percival said again, smiling when he floundered without the honorific.

“We’ll get you your own armour when we get back to Camelot. It would look too suspicious to buy it here, and although it’s not the merchants’ fault, I begrudge any of our coin going into Brance’s coffers,” Arthur went on.

“I’m afraid all my coin… was taken when I was arrested,” Percival told them as he stretched his arms as Arthur did.

“We’ll demand Brance reimburses you for your losses,” Arthur said. “Once your honour is satisfied. But don’t worry about coin, we won’t see you starve, will we Merlin?”

“Oh no. Not if I have to hunt dinner for you myself. Although you might not eat very well if we’re relying on my hunting skills,” Merlin admitted.

“I’m good with a bow,” Percival told them.

“Perfect. Maybe you could teach Merlin sometime,” Arthur grinned.

“I’d love to.”

Merlin laughed. “As if I don’t have enough to do for you, Sire!”

“Don’t worry, Merlin. Camelot won’t expect you to hunt all that often. Just once in a while,” Arthur reassured him.

“Good. No offence, Percival, but I’m better at dressing people than weapons.”

“None taken. We all have something we’re best at.”

Yes. Just a shame Merlin’s was magic.

***

By dawn a small crowd had assembled. King Brance, his advisor and a handful of nobles who were likely Reuben’s supporters. Marian was not here, because Arthur had decided it would be best if she wasn’t present. There was a strange lack of servants or commoners, which Merlin found distinctly unsettling. He wondered how often matters like this were settled without anyone outside observing. Of course it was a knight’s name at stake, and if he was publicly dishonoured it would not do.

Still there were eight to Camelot’s five, and all but Brance and Reuben’s squire were armed. Merlin hoped it didn’t come down to a brawl, even knowing how good Arthur, Kay and Oswald were.

No one else was there to see Merlin dress Percival in the ritual way he had learned from the Crown Prince himself, but Merlin knew it was Arthur’s idea to set Percival in the right frame of mind. Merlin’s fingers were steady as he made his last adjustments, and when he stood up to brush Percival’s shoulders over, he saw that Reuben’s squire was dressing him. All the while, Reuben was staring at Percival and he had been staring back.

Merlin stood back and waited, not wanting to break the moment. He caught the squire’s eye – who looked distinctly worried – and shook his head slightly.

The moment stretched out and out, until everyone must have noticed the staring contest. Just when Merlin really started to get uncomfortable, and Percival’s jaw started to twitch minutely, Arthur’s voice broke the cold dawn air.

“I think it’s time, don’t you?”

Both men were still a minute longer, then Percival turned sharply on his heel to face Arthur. He dropped to one knee, head bowed.

“My Lord. By my sword and my life, I pledge to uphold Camelot’s name and principles.”

“And Camelot thanks you,” Arthur replied at once, so smoothly Merlin would have suspected it was orchestrated if he didn’t know it wasn’t.

Percival rose and turned to Merlin. Merlin smiled quickly, then reached up to place the helmet on Percival’s head, then took the sword from Oswald and held it out.

“Camelot!” Percival cried, hoisting the sword high. 

“Camelot!” Kay and Oswald replied, as Arthur folded his arms stoically over his chest and watched.

Percival walked to the centre of the ring, the royal box and spectator’s seats eerily empty. On high the flags of Camelot and Morham flew – dead on the poles for the most part, unfurling slowly every time the breeze picked up to fall back down again – and the eleven who had come to watch moved into place.

Reuben waited until everyone had settled before he deigned to move. Merlin disliked him at once from his walk alone. The man’s manner screamed arrogance, from the slow swagger that made everyone wait to the way he didn’t even look at anyone as he approached. This was no revenge-seeking spirit, this was a bully, and Merlin understood why Percival had acted as he did.

Eventually the two men stood facing one another, swords clasped between two hands in front of their visors. 

“Sir Reuben of Morham,” said the advisor, his voice loud and carrying, “Sir Percival of Camelot has demanded satisfaction. Do you answer his request?”

“Aye,” Reuben replied. “I do.”

“Very well. On my mark,” he told them, lifting his arm. Both men tensed. The advisor dropped his arm and Merlin was shocked by how quickly afterwards Reuben sprang forwards.

“He knew the count,” said Oswald by his ear. “Even if they didn’t plan it, he’ll have seen him adjudicate often enough to know how long to wait.”

That made sense. What made less sense was the speed and ferocity of the blows Reuben was throwing. Merlin had only seen men fight with sword and shield before, never just a sword. This was noisier, and he found it hard to follow the attacks and parries.

Percival started to lead more heavily with his right foot, and Reuben eventually gave in and did the same, so the two men started to circle around one another. Reuben kept swinging at Percival’s left shoulder, meaning Percival had to keep his own sword up and keep moving out of range. 

“He’s good,” Kay murmured somewhere behind him, but Merlin couldn’t reply, because this was when Reuben planted his left foot and brought his right up and around, Percival’s sword pinned upwards with his own. The foot made impact with Percival’s ribs, making the young man splutter and stagger backwards.

Reuben gave no quarter, immediately hammering down blow after blow that Percival barely blocked.

Merlin could hear Arthur’s lack of breath. Could _see_ the lines of worry around his eyes and mouth, even without looking. 

It would be so easy to reach out with his mind… cause one little slip…

_No_.

That would not be chivalrous. It would not be _right_. 

Huddled over as he was, Merlin watched with surprise as Percival suddenly… _ducked_ under a swing, turned away from Reuben for a heartbeat and brought his sword to bear on the back of the knight’s knee.

Reuben howled in pain, almost going down as one hand went to his knee, hobbling backwards with his sword in a defensive position before him.

“That was for Marian,” he heard Percival shout loud enough for everyone to hear.

“WHORE!” Reuben screamed, hopping onto his good leg and whirling madly with his blade.

Uninjured, Percival jumped back, pleased with himself.

And tripped.

Reuben used the lapse to his advantage, springing forwards and grabbing Percival’s sword hand with his left, trying to turn his own towards the pinned knight’s throat. 

“Whore,” Reuben hissed. “Common whore. Like them, do you? Only women you know?”

Percival made his second mistake then. He’d made Reuben angry, but he was foolish enough to let Reuben anger him, too.

“Wretch, is that all you understand?” Percival yelled back, kicking Reuben’s bad leg and flinging his weight to the side to roll Reuben underneath him.

“Get up… get up, boy!” Kay was groaning under his breath, and Merlin could tell Oswald and Arthur were just as tense too.

“All women are harlots. One look at a sword and they drop everything,” Reuben laughed, still trying to wrest his own sword hand free and pin Percival’s.

“Oh for god’s sake, stop wriggling in the mud like children and _fight_ ,” Kay hissed again, only loud enough for his friends’ ears.

“Liar!”

Kay slapped a hand to his forehead, probably refusing to watch. Merlin was tempted to do the same. He’d never seen two knights so look thoroughly ludicrous before.

“What’s wrong, that your mother, son?” Reuben bellowed.

Percival threw a punch that landed on Reuben’s jaw, then jumped back. He didn’t get to his feet in time to force Reuben’s surrender, though, and the other man waved his sword rapidly, trying to trip him.

Percival took a step back. Two. He raised his sword before him, standing as he had at the beginning of the battle. Merlin could see the slow, heavy breaths as he tried to calm himself, and waited.

Reuben only watched for a second or two until he, too, was on his feet. He was somewhat less sturdy in his stance, though, and his sword wobbled in front of him with each messy, loud breath.

“Knight! Hah. Some Knight. Knight of Whores and Harlots. Is that you, lad? Is that what they will say of ye?”

Percival went stock still. “No,” he said, after a moment. “They will call me Champion of Justice and Honour,” he replied. “And Foe to the Swine.”

Reuben bellowed in protest and rushed at Percival, who didn’t move an inch. Merlin couldn’t breathe. Why wasn’t he reacting?

Then as Reuben got near, Merlin understood. He lunged the same way he had before, but Percival stepped to the side, out of range… and as Reuben stepped past him, he turned and plunged his sword with terrifying accuracy into Reuben’s neck, just below the helmet.

Reuben stilled, his sword dropping from his fingers. He stayed upright until Percival pulled the sword out from his neck, staining the grass with red blood. Reuben fell first to his knees, then onto his face.

Percival didn’t move. No one did. Then Percival walked past Merlin to Arthur, thrust his sword blade-first into the grass, removed his helmet, and kneeled beside his sword in front of Arthur’s feet.

Arthur laid a hand on Percival’s lowered head.

“Sir Percival. Champion of Justice and Honour. You have served me well,” he said.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Rise and take your place with my men.”

Percival did, leaving the bloodied sword where it was. He stood calmly behind Arthur, on a level with Kay and Oswald. A show of solidarity and deference to their Prince.

Arthur started towards Brance, who also started to walk just afterwards. They met near Reuben’s corpse.

“The honour of Camelot and my Knight is now restored,” Arthur said.

“Then we are done,” Brance said.

Arthur nodded.

“Take his armour. His estate belongs to your Knight.”

“Sell the land, split the money between the widow Marian and her family, and to any dependants he left behind.”

“As you wish,” Brance said, then he nodded to his advisor.

“We will ride out by nightfall.”

“I will have your horses readied.”

“Thank you.”

The two rulers stood eye to eye a little longer, then both turned as though on some hidden signal.

Merlin looked up expectantly as Arthur came to him, first.

“Strip his armour. Clean what you can here, and bring it back.” Then he paused. “You aren’t squeamish, are you?”

Merlin hadn’t been around all that many dead bodies, but it was becoming more common around Arthur. “No… I’m okay.”

“Great. When you’ve taken everything but his chainmail and his britches, get the squire to help you wrap the body, and then come back to the castle.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“It’s time we went home.”

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and offered a tight-lipped smile. Just as the warmth of his hand started to seep through Merlin’s shirt, Arthur let go and carried on to his three knights.

Merlin took this as a dismissal, so he walked towards where Reuben lay, mercifully face-down. His squire was milling about looking distraught. All the others from Morham had followed King Brance as he left, leaving him alone with Percival and the Camelot troupe. 

What did you say to someone in this situation? Merlin had no idea. In the end he went for: “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He was not at all surprised when the squire barked a sharp laugh, and stared at him incredulously. “Why?”

“You were his squire?” Merlin asked, as he kneeled and started to work on the sabatons, thinking it would be the least disturbing place to start. He wanted to keep away from the helmet for as long as possible.

“Yes. And I didn’t lose anything. Except maybe being known as anyone other than the squire of the Knight who died. Those things don’t help you out, you know?”

Reuben was at least still warm. It was grotesquely like undressing a very drunken Arthur. The thought made Merlin’s gorge rise at the thought of ever doing this to his Prince, and he had to pause for a second.

“Then I’m sorry for that,” he said, when he thought he could speak safely without choking.

The squire sighed. “No. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, just like it isn’t mine. I shouldn’t have been sharp with you.”

“It’s alright, really,” Merlin told him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do… do you want me to help?”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“From who? No one is here to see. Look. You probably didn’t want him dead as much as I did… let me help.”

The squire knelt down at the head and started with the helmet. Merlin was incredibly grateful, even if it meant he could see the man’s blood-caked hair. Still this would mean he would be finished twice as quickly, and away from the smell of death.

“Are all your Knights like… this?” Merlin asked, as he saw the weary resignation in the squire’s shoulders.

“Dead?” The boy smiled. “No. Arrogant? Mostly. Isn’t that what Knights are for?”

Merlin shrugged. He was sure they weren’t, but he didn’t think it would do good to steal a young man to Arthur’s cause hot on the heels of his master’s death. There was such a thing as tact, and he was beginning to learn it.

“I hope not,” was his diplomatic reply.

“Here… take it with pleasure. May it serve a worthier soul than this one.”

“With any luck,” Merlin said. 

“Now let’s bundle the bastard so he can be buried like the worthy he wasn’t, shall we?”

“Bundling sounds good to me. Great, in fact.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re weird?”

Merlin laughed. “Only everyone and their dragon.”

“What?”

“Precisely.”

***

 Epilogue 

 

The first week after their return to Camelot was insanely busy. On the day of their return there was the ride to the castle walls with the farmers, weavers and millers with their wives and daughters rushing out of their houses to holler and cheer as they passed. There were flags and pennants flying, and little children in their best clothes dancing around in the fields. There was the last mile with crowds of grateful people lining the streets, ready to welcome their Prince back home. 

When they did get inside the walls, there was King Uther’s uncharacteristic warm welcome, grabbing Arthur into a close embrace before shaking the hand of each of them in turn – even Merlin.

Then came telling their story to Uther. Arthur kept them all around him for as long as he could, but eventually his father wanted to see him and him alone. And in fact, the excuse to leave royal company for once was a welcome relief.

Merlin took this opportunity to run (when no one was about to see) back to Gaius’ rooms and be greeted with an equally warm hug, a flagon of ale and the order to tell him _everything_ , which was impossible to do in the time before the formal banquet.

The banquet involved telling the story for the _third_ time, but fortunately Arthur did most of the telling, with Kay providing his own boisterous opinions and version of events whenever he felt people weren’t suitably awed, shocked or amused enough. Merlin couldn’t believe how rapt everyone seemed to hear their story, because it certainly hadn’t felt like something anyone would romanticise at the time. Although Kay managed to make even the worst incidents sound inspiring and entertaining.

After the banquet came sleep. The talking, ale and food sent a road-weary Merlin over the edge and he slept until midday the next day.

He wouldn’t have woken even then, if it hadn’t been for Gwen hammering on the door and demanding to know why Merlin hadn’t come to see her yet.

Still in his clothes from the night before, Merlin told her everything he could think of, hiding under the covers as she sat at the foot of his bed.

That was also the day he found out that Arthur had given him a week’s holiday from duties, and he sent a quick prayer of thanks up to whoever was responsible for that when he realised he’d been an absent manservant for most of the day already and Arthur probably really needed help and sleep as much as Merlin must.

But then the rest of the week didn’t go so well. There were more meetings and briefings and he was asked to provide as much information as he could remember about the holdings and defences of the various places they had visited. There were hellos and questions from people who had hardly spoken to him before. 

But Merlin soon found that without tasks to do for Arthur… he was at a loss. He ran errands for Gaius, he read his books on sorcery and even healing… but he was like a fish out of water.

And Arthur was impossible to find. He was always hideously busy, and whenever Merlin tried to make their paths cross or arrange to be somewhere he thought Arthur would be, he would get a brief greeting and Arthur would dart off.

Arthur might be busy, but Merlin _wasn’t_. And he found more than the lack of work, he missed _Arthur_.

It was crazy. They’d been in one another’s company practically every minute of every day for months now, and surely you got tired of someone when you saw them that much, no matter how much you liked them to begin with?

Apparently not Merlin.

In the end, his patience ran out on the sixth night of his week of holiday, and he let himself into Arthur’s bedroom to sit and wait for him. If nothing else, Arthur might shout at him and let Merlin undress him and Merlin would then begin to get pissed off with Arthur again and he could go back to his last day off and enjoy it.

This was the plan.

When Arthur walked in and looked utterly baffled by the warlock sitting in his chair, Merlin realised it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Merlin… I thought I told you to take the week off?”

“You did, Sire.”

“And… your week is somehow magically a day and a night shorter than everyone else’s?”

Merlin shook his head. “I’m not here to work. Well. Not unless you ask me to, I suppose.”

“So you thought you’d break into my room to… what? Keep my chair warm? Look for a journal that doesn’t even exist? Hunt rats?”

Merlin shook his head again. A journal? No, he mustn’t get distracted. “I… I think I just wanted to say hi.”

Arthur blinked a few times. “Okay. And…?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to say it?”

Merlin sometimes wondered why he even tried having a sensible conversation with Arthur. They both went a little insane when they spoke to one another. It was a strange but true fact.

“Hi,” he said, with a heavy sigh. “Happy now?”

Arthur paced around him like a dog watching a snake, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s face. His shoulders were arched defensively, his posture guarded. Merlin wondered why anyone would feel so threatened by him just… sitting in their room. 

“Are you?” the Prince asked.

“Arthur… I just wanted to see you. You’ve been avoiding me all week and… well. I thought we were friends.”

Arthur smirked. “… ‘Friends’, hmm?” he asked.

“Yes, friends.”

“So you’re here to say ‘hi’ to a friend. You see me lots, Merlin. Please don’t lie to me. You could say hello to me any time. I’d think you’d know that by now.”

Merlin jumped to his feet, hands clenched into fists by his sides. “Why are you making this so difficult?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Arthur shot back, arms folding over his chest, taking a pace backwards.

“Everything! Why is it always a fight with you? Why can’t you just…”

“Just… _what_ , Merlin? I’m no mind-reader. _Tell_ me.”

And say what? I miss you? I’ve been planning my days around bumping into you, I’ve been short-tempered and distracted since we got back? I just want to _see_ you?

“I miss you,” Merlin tried, awkwardly. It was the least difficult thing on his list to say.

Clearly this wasn’t what Arthur expected him to say, because those brilliant blue eyes looked utterly confused. “You… what?”

“I miss you, you oaf. Why did you send me away? Are you tired of me?”

Weirdly easier to say the second time. And also a huge weight off his chest, even if it now led to worries about how the other man would react.

“What? No! No… Merlin I… Merlin, I thought you needed some time off. You’ve helped me enormously and I realise you haven’t seen your friends, or… done whatever it is you do and…”

Merlin reached out with his left hand, touching Arthur’s. “I’ve seen them again. And most of what I do revolves around you. I’m going insane not having your ridiculous demands to keep me occupied.”

Arthur’s jaw twitched. He looked as though he wanted to say something else.

“I… wanted you to have time to think,” Arthur admitted. “And… me too. Time… time alone. To make sure.” His eyes glanced down at the thin silvery band around Merlin’s wrist that the gesture had exposed. Merlin wasn’t sure he hadn’t done it on purpose.

“I am.” Merlin realised he was. Why else would he break into the Prince’s room just to… _see_ him, if it wasn’t some – twisted – kind of love? “Are you?”

Arthur took one long, long breath. Merlin held his as he waited for the response. He had to wait for longer than should be possible, but Arthur met his eye. Held it. Nodded… just once.

“I am. God help me, but I am.” He lifted his hand to press Merlin’s into his arm, a finger stroking the back to the bracelet there. “You have more than my word to assure you it’s true.”

He had an old wives’ tale, too, Merlin thought. A little shiny token of devotion that could be anything to anyone else.

“I’m…” Merlin laughed. “I’m glad. Arthur. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but… I’m glad.”

Arthur cleared his throat, then… he moved his hand from Merlin’s and turned to brush his knuckles over Merlin’s cheekbone. 

“I’m probably going to hell for this, but I can’t help myself,” said Arthur.

“That’s… flattering,” Merlin joked. He tried to use it to cover up the fact that he was blushing like crazy, and the fingers touching his face had sent a jolt of… _something_ right into his stomach. It felt like he’d drunk too much and was dizzy from it, although without the slightly sick feeling he got from drinking so much.

“It should be. You have no idea how many ways my father would flog me and how far from Camelot he’d banish me if he knew I was…” Arthur smiled to himself. “…consorting with my manservant, rather than finding the mother of my heir and Queen of Camelot.”

“Maybe it isn’t a good idea then,” Arthur said, taking a step backwards.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice was choked with sudden emotion, making Merlin stop. “Please. I… didn’t make this decision lightly. I… if you left…”

Arthur’s hand jumped to the back of Merlin’s neck, clamping down and holding him in place. But what kept Merlin still more than that was the look of sheer terror in Arthur’s eyes. He really _did_ care.

“Sire… I have to tell you something…”

“Merlin. Shut up. I’m going to show you how much you need to stay.”

“But Sire!” How could he enter into a relationship with a man who didn’t know the truth about his abilities?

Clumsily, Arthur held Merlin’s head still and leaned in to kiss him. After an awkward moment when Arthur had to work out how to tilt his head so they could actually… _touch_ … Arthur’s lips were surprisingly soft and warm against his own. Arthur kissed him gently, almost as though he suspected Merlin might shatter from the contact.

Merlin wasn’t all that sure what kissing was supposed to feel like. This kiss left him feeling… confused and not entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. More pressing was how close the other man was standing to him, and how he could feel the heat radiating from his body. How he could feel Arthur’s hand tremble slightly behind his head. It was awkward, but it was loaded with so much… feeling on both sides.

Arthur pulled back slightly, and Merlin opened his mouth to say something. Of course, this was when Arthur moved back in to kiss him again and their lips tangled. Merlin froze. Arthur seemed surprised too, and there was a weird pause – with their mouths locked together – before Arthur pulled gently at Merlin’s lower lip and… sucked softly.

_That_ felt all new kinds of wonderful, and Merlin felt it go through him at once. He grabbed a handful of Arthur’s shirt, and the other hand went to the small of his back to hold him in place. Arthur seemed to take that as encouragement, and he started to worry Merlin’s lip with his teeth and suck harder. Merlin didn’t know how to respond, so he poked his tongue out and ran it along Arthur’s upper lip. Merlin realised Arthur was still holding his head in place, but the other hand was moving over Merlin’s shoulder and arm, and everywhere he touched seemed to come alive like magic prickling over his skin. Merlin worried briefly that it _was_ magic, but as Arthur didn’t stop kissing or touching him, he figured even if it was that it wasn’t going to get in the way of what they were doing.

They kept kissing and touching until Arthur broke the kiss – probably for air – and Merlin made a squawk of protest. Arthur laughed.

“I don’t think we’re finished yet, do you?” he asked.

“If you say we are I may just have to commit treason and kill you,” Merlin said in all honesty.

“That good?” Arthur asked, sounding weirdly touched. “Merlin, you never told me you were such a romantic.”

“I seem to remember _you_ being the one kissing _me_ , Sire.”

“I know. I’m quite good at it, it seems. Shall I do it again?”

“Well, more practice isn’t going to do you any harm,” Merlin said, even as he fought to keep the tone of desperate need out of his voice.

“Uppity servant,” Arthur accused him, but stopped any response by leaning in again and pushing his lips against Merlin’s.

Merlin opened his mouth at once, and was startled and annoyed to find Arthur didn’t do the same. Hadn’t he worked out yet that it felt wonderful when he did? Merlin growled and bit at Arthur’s mouth. The hand on his neck moved immediately to clutch at his hair, and Merlin wondered if he’d gone too far. But then Arthur made a low groan of pleasure and opened his mouth, and Merlin realised that strangely even biting felt good. Worth remembering.

Arthur’s gasp left his mouth open, and Merlin’s tongue accidentally (probably) missed Arthur’s lip and slid into his mouth. That was an odd sensation, tongue to tongue. Arthur’s mouth was warm and soft, and it set all Merlin’s nerves tingling as he felt Arthur’s tongue experimentally move against his.

Their hands were still as they experimented with this, their tongues moving back and forth as they tried to work out what felt right and what the other man was about to do, until they found some kind of rhythm and they carried on doing this until Merlin realised they weren’t even _touching_ anywhere else, really, and if kissing felt this good then surely all sorts of other things would feel good too.

Arthur seemed to have the same thought, because when they broke for air this time, he held Merlin’s head close to his and stared deeply into his eyes, panting, and deep in thought.

“Do you want to try something?” he asked.

“Depends what the something is,” Merlin replied, smiling. “But probably yes.”

“If you think I’m going to ask you to do anything other than stay in kissing distance any time soon, you really have me wrong,” Arthur grinned back. “I was thinking about wearing less.”

“So I am here to work after all?” Merlin couldn’t help himself.

“Do you want me to order you to undress us both?”

“That depends… do you want to do it?”

Arthur bit Merlin’s lip. Merlin was right, it really _did_ feel good. “Undress us, Merlin. I’ve waited long enough.”

This meant he had to let go of where he was holding Arthur tightly, of course. Merlin wasn’t too impressed by that, but he was willing to obey this time because he suspected Arthur really had the right idea. “Yes, Sire.”

“Good boy,” Arthur said, his eyes lit with mischief and affection.

And then came the time Merlin realised he’d been thinking of for a lot longer than he’d admitted to himself before. He moved his hands to the front of Arthur’s jacket and started to unbuckle it slowly. Slowly because his hands were trembling, not because he wanted this to take a long time. 

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be,” Arthur reassured him, and reached a sword-calloused finger out to slide over his cheekbone and down to his mouth. 

Merlin’s knees went weak and he wasn’t sure how he managed to stay upright. How such a simple touch could hit him so hard he wasn’t sure. He just knew they’d made the right decision. They had to have.

“Can I undress you?” Arthur asked, sounding… shy.

“Of – of course,” Merlin replied, confused.

“Great,” Arthur said, but Merlin wondered if it was just for something to say. 

As Merlin reached the bottom of Arthur’s jacket, his Prince’s hands moved to the necktie, fingers hooking carefully under and moving around his throat to the back to loosen the knot. Arthur didn’t need to stroke his neck like that, but the carefulness of the gesture made Merlin melt inside all over.

Merlin ducked his head to let Arthur remove the necktie, and when he had done, Merlin took the opportunity to slide Arthur’s jacket off his shoulders.

Arthur let it fall. Merlin cringed, because he was so used to keeping Arthur’s room tidy if not his own. Arthur smiled. “Tonight… it stays where it falls,” Arthur said, reading his mind.

“I’ll tidy later,” Merlin promised.

“A _lot_ later,” Arthur insisted, and bent to kiss Merlin’s freshly exposed throat.

Merlin cried out in pleasure, his fingers curling behind the laces at the front of Arthur’s shirt, brushing over his skin below. Arthur jumped, and Merlin realised his other hand had hold of his buttock. Experimentally he squeezed, and Arthur bit his neck in response. This only meant Merlin squeezed harder, and he fumbled with the ties of Arthur’s shirt, pulling it open so he could stroke lower and find a nipple – which was impossibly firm under his fingers – and touch everywhere he could reach.

“Shirts,” Arthur growled into his ear and Merlin nodded enthusiastically. 

Arthur moved first, grabbing the bottom of Merlin’s shirt and tugging upwards until Merlin managed to move enough for it to be pulled free. Arthur’s eyes were dark with arousal and Merlin had to take a step back to escape being pounced.

“Shirt,” Merlin told him, trying not to sound scolding. 

Arthur’s nostrils flared, but he lowered his hands and let Merlin come in close and take hold of his shirt too. Arthur’s breath was hot on his neck and Merlin was praying for him to kiss his throat again, but being topless was marginally more important and he pulled Arthur’s shirt off before either of them got distracted again.

Which meant they were now both naked from the waist up. Merlin had seen Arthur wearing a _lot_ less, but he’d hardly seen the man undressed since Arthur had admitted his – feelings? – for Merlin. It was different now. 

Merlin had always known that Arthur was an attractive man. It was hard not to notice: he was in perfect shape from training and adventuring, his chest broad and strong and his stomach flat. There was little hair, and those nipples were a warm, inviting colour that reminded Merlin of his lips. 

He took a moment to admire, even as he pulled his arms in front of his own torso, embarrassed by his relative scrawniness compared to Arthur’s strong physique.

“Merlin.”

Merlin realised he had been staring and he looked up. “Sire?”

“Arthur,” he corrected gently. Then, “Why are you hiding?” He put a hand on Merlin’s arm and tried to coerce it down.

“Hiding?”

“You’re curling up like a hedgehog. Did…” Arthur frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No! No. I just…” Merlin flailed helplessly. “Look at me.”

“I think people will accuse me of looking too much, Merlin, and not of not enough.”

Merlin bit his lip. “I’m… Arthur, I’m lanky. I have big ears. I’m… I’m no Knight. No one would take me seriously even if I was.”

Arthur laughed, and Merlin suddenly felt worse. Hedgehog indeed. 

Arthur shook his head, and reached out for Merlin’s chin, lifting it so their eyes met. “Merlin. You look like you need a few more warm meals, yes, but I _know_ you’re eating enough because you eat as much as me. This is just who you are.”

“I know,” Merlin replied.

“You don’t need to hide from me, Merlin. I know full well what you look like without any clothes on, just… just like you know what I do. And… I think you’re beautiful. Even your ears.”

Beautiful? Merlin wasn’t sure what to think of that. Him, beautiful? Arthur was beautiful. Arthur with his strong jaw and clever eyes, his broad shoulders and toned body. Merlin was nothing like that.

“You… you really think so?”

“Merlin. Do you honestly think I would have spent the past year thinking about stripping you naked in my bed and kissing every last inch of you if I didn’t find you damnably attractive?”

The last… _year_?

“Wh— uh…”

Arthur’s fingers settled on his collarbone, making him supremely aware of how much they stood out until Arthur’s fingers moved to the small of his throat and then down in an agonisingly slow line to his stomach, resting in the dip of his navel.

“You are _beautiful_ ,” Arthur repeated. “So beautiful I’m damning my whole kingdom for you. _You_.”

Merlin felt every last patch of skin turn pink under the scrutiny and compliment. 

“Now are you going to let me settle the question of what you taste like once and for all, or do I have to bring you flowers until you’re sure my intentions are more honourable than they look right now?”

Merlin laughed. “If you were going to just jump me you’ve had long enough when I’d have said yes already,” he told him.

“I had to be sure. That it was what you wanted, too,” Arthur added. “It’s hard to say no to a Prince.”

“Oh… I could have managed.”

Arthur laughed loudly. “Yes. If anyone could have said no to me… I’m sure you’re the one.”

The Prince looked predatory again, taking another step forwards until there was no space between them again, his eyes touching Merlin from head to toe. 

“I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Not as glad as me,” Arthur insisted as he tucked a finger down the front of Merlin’s trousers and dragged him forwards, lips pressing against Merlin’s, his other hand sliding down Merlin’s arm to his hand. Arthur lifted Merlin’s hand and placed it back on his own backside, pressing the fingers in.

Merlin relaxed into the kiss, a slow tangle of tongues on lips and on tongues, pushing into his mouth and then letting Arthur push back. He was beginning to think he’d worked out what kisses were sort of about now, which was helpful, because he imagined they’d be kissing rather a lot if he had any say in the matter.

As the Prince had clearly shown that touching his backside was welcome, Merlin took the opportunity to fondle him properly. It was hard to go slow when the kissing was driving him wild, but he stroked and prodded. It was satisfyingly squishy – why would he even think otherwise? – but touching it not was infinitely more interesting than the other times he’d had to touch it for less… romantic reasons. 

Arthur decided to mirror the gesture, his free hand now moving to cup Merlin’s own buttocks, which made Merlin jump up onto his tiptoes in surprise. Arthur broke the kiss long enough to ask, “You okay?”

“Yes… don’t stop,” Merlin replied, sounding as breathless as he felt. 

Arthur ran his tongue over Merlin’s lips teasingly, then went back to kissing him more deeply. Merlin found himself pressing his hips against Arthur, pulling him in closer with the hand on his ass. He could feel his own cock was pressing into the seam of his trousers, and he would swear he could feel Arthur’s own cock pressing back. The thought made him dizzy with pleasure, and he let his free hand slide from Arthur’s waist up towards his shoulder, pausing when a touch to the nipple caused Arthur to stiffen and moan into his mouth.

Oh. So it wasn’t entirely strange that Merlin kept feeling his eyes drawn to them, then? Experimentally, he stroked past them again, and was delighted to find Arthur started grinding their hips together harder, yanking on Merlin’s backside to keep him in place. The little nub went harder under his fingers, so Merlin rolled it over and over between finger and thumb, until Arthur stopped kissing him and growled.

“Let’s finish this, Merlin. Soon.”

The words and tone made Merlin shiver and nod. He moved his hands to Arthur’s belt and started unfastening it, embarrassed to find that in the heat of the moment he’d become clumsy again. Arthur didn’t seem to notice, though, and his own hands were a little shaky as he tugged urgently at Merlin’s trousers, trying to push them over his hips without unfastening them. Of course it worked, because Merlin had to fight to keep them _up_ normally.

They made a mutual decision to step back and kick trousers off, leaving only their briefs, shoes and socks. The air in Arthur’s room was cold, and it was making Merlin’s skin prickle slightly. It felt terribly cold against his groin, and he shuffled self-consciously. They both paused at the same moment, looking at the other – almost naked – man, and then up.

“Point of no return?” Arthur said suddenly, making Merlin jump.

The warlock swallowed. Weren’t they already there? If anyone was stupid or brave enough (other than himself, of course) to burst into Arthur’s room unannounced… well this left nothing to their imagination, did it? And unless Arthur could bully them into silence, or Merlin could find something to wipe their memory… this moment of lustful madness could ruin them both. Forever.

“You mean you really think we could go back?” Merlin asked.

“I guess not.”

“Then stop worrying,” Merlin ordered him, and – with a very deep breath – tucked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs and pushed them down, bending and stepping out of them, letting his dick bob proudly in front of him. He still had shoes and socks on, yes, but they seemed a little less important to worry about when he was standing in front of his Prince with absolutely nothing else on.

Arthur took a deep, hissing breath in and Merlin was gratified to see his hands clench into fists and then release. Clench, release. 

“Oh,” Arthur said. “You _are_ beautiful.”

Merlin had to laugh at that, even as the compliment made his toes curl with pleasure. “You only really found out now?” Merlin asked. “I thought you said before that…”

Arthur was staring at his crotch. His eyes kept darting down and they were struggling to keep focussed on Merlin’s face. “Uhm. I mean. You _are_ beautiful. I just… you… I don’t go around staring at naked men all that often, okay?”

Merlin shook his head in amusement. “Me either. Maybe you’ll let me start?”

“Only me,” Arthur insisted, voice suddenly barbed with possessiveness. Merlin was surprised by the vehemence.

“Only you,” Merlin agreed.

Arthur bit his lip in concentration, then followed Merlin in pulling his briefs off, followed by shoes and socks yanked and kicked into the corner. Merlin took the hint and did the same and stood bare-foot on the chill tile floor. 

Any lingering worry Merlin might have been entertaining about not liking men _like that_ vanished when he saw Arthur standing defiantly naked in front of him. He was all smooth, clean lines and underlying muscles. His skin was naturally pale and the fair hair that dusted his legs and arms carried on a thin line from his navel to darker hair between his legs, curling around a cock that was perhaps a little shorter than his own, but fuller and thicker. Merlin didn’t have enough experience of naked men to make a proper comparison to others, but he’d seen enough to know that no one _else_ had made him feel giddy and nervous and… drawn all at once. 

They both took a moment to stare and appreciate, and then Arthur was moving again and he had Merlin’s face cupped between both hands as he kissed him long and slow once more.

It was all the more erotic because underneath the kiss, chests and thighs and _dicks_ brushed skin to skin. The cold radiating up through his legs never reached above his knees. 

Merlin stroked a hand experimentally over Arthur’s neck and shoulder – pleased to feel a shudder in response – whilst the other hand went back to groping his buttocks. He let his fingers curl into the valley between the two mounds, getting as much of a handful as he could and squeezing. Arthur reacted violently, hips thrusting hard against him. Merlin didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing, so he moved his hand back a little.

That brought the kissing to a quick halt. “No… don’t stop. Do it again. With your fingers,” Arthur insisted, sounding a little needy. “… _Please_.”

“Okay,” Merlin agreed, putting his fingers into the small of his back, before sliding them all downward into the crack again, surprised to find Arthur started to writhe even more. 

“That good?”

Arthur nodded. Then he decided to return the favour and one hand went from Merlin’s face to drag all the way down his spine and between his cheeks. Merlin yelped in shocked pleasure, the touch making his cock harden even more and he was rubbing helplessly against Arthur for friction before he knew what he was doing.

“Good, no?” Arthur asked. “Maybe I should thank Kay for the very crude advice he gave me.”

“…Kay gave you… advice?”

Arthur nodded, and looked a little sheepish. “Uh. He said not to worry if we started touching weird places. It’s normal.”

“…I don’t want to know, do I?”

“Kay’s smarter than most people give him credit for. And not just about horses.”

Merlin winced as two very different thoughts crashed together. “Argh! I’d rather not think about that.”

“I know. Makes his sheep jokes even worse, doesn’t it?” Arthur pointed out.

Well. That thought had cleared his head at least for the moment. Merlin was grateful for it, for all he didn’t want to linger.

“Maybe I’ll ask Oswald if he knows any good books. That might be less embarrassing,” Merlin suggested.

“Good idea. But not tonight. Tonight I want you in my bed. In fact, I want you in there – now.”

“Now?” Merlin teased, stroking his fingers a little more firmly between Arthur’s legs, and lower.

Arthur made a choked noise. “Now!” he spluttered, and suddenly grabbed Merlin’s shoulders and spun him until he was back to the bed, walking him backwards until Merlin’s calves met the frame.

“I would have moved, you know,” Merlin teased.

“In a year, maybe,” Arthur accused him, pressing down on the warlock’s shoulders until he relented and sat down. “I don’t want to wait that long for you again.”

“You’re so romantic,” Merlin retorted, even as the Prince straddled him, kneeling either side of his thighs and putting his hands on Merlin’s face again.

“You weren’t complaining before.”

“You were too busy kissing me.”

Arthur took the hint and bent to kiss him again, and Merlin wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist, before starting to slide his hands slowly down to his backside to pull him in closer to his stomach and crotch, unable to move his hips himself.

Halfway through the kiss, Arthur shifted his weight and suddenly Merlin found himself on his back with Arthur propped on his hands above him. 

“Better?” Arthur asked.

“Still not romantic,” Merlin insisted.

Arthur made a wounded sound, then reached behind him for Merlin’s hands, tugging them up and above Merlin’s head and pressing them into the bed. “And the chivalric promise of unicorn hair?”

“…okay, I admit that was a _little_ romantic,” Merlin admitted.

“What more were you looking for?” Arthur asked. “Half my kingdom? Lovely dresses?”

The thought of wearing a dress made Merlin start giggling, and he gave in, trying to jump up enough to kiss Arthur. He managed to reach his nose. “Make it free access to the royal archives and you’ve got a deal.”

“Hah. Not such a lovey-dovey type after all,” Arthur tried to sound wounded and failed.

“Well, you’ve got what you wanted. What are you going to do to me?”

“Do ‘to’ you, Merlin? Oh no, do ‘with’ you.”

Apparently do ‘with’ involved holding his hands where they were and moving his weight back on to his knees… only to push up with his hips and drag his cock over Merlin’s. 

“Oh!”

Arthur smiled past gritted teeth. “Like… that?”

Merlin nodded frantically. “Again.”

Arthur smirked and did it again. Slower and harder this time, and Merlin could feel the way Arthur’s firm shaft moved inside the soft skin covering it, and how when he moved back, Arthur dragged Merlin’s own foreskin down. It wasn’t anything like the times he’d done this with his hand. Not at all. Even though it was less… well… focussed and they probably looked ridiculous squirming and writhing like this, it was still a million times more erotic.

“Again?” Arthur asked, though his voice sounded strained this time.

Merlin could only nod. 

Arthur pressed a little harder this time, and Merlin cried out in surprise, even knowing someone could hear.

“Merlin!”

“Sorry!”

“Do I need to gag you?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been in this situation before,” Merlin told him, a little flustered. “Can you go back to what you were doing?”

Another push, and this time Merlin bit down on his own lip to keep from crying out. Arthur looked to be concentrating hard, and all of a sudden he moved Merlin’s hands closer together and then pinned them both with one of his

“Don’t scream, Merlin,” Arthur told him.

“I’ll try.”

But then Arthur’s warm hand wrapped around Merlin’s shaft, holding it against his own… and he started to work them quickly against one another. Merlin’s mind blacked out from the sensation. The rough hand and the softer, silky feel of Arthur’s manhood… he arched underneath Arthur, surprised to find he couldn’t even scream, he couldn’t even breathe.

“Ohgod,” Arthur whispered, voice low and reverent. “Merlin…”

Merlin could only nod and nod, his whole body tensing as Arthur’s hand stroked them both roughly and inelegantly, the tension building behind and the strange giddy, dizzy feeling back in his stomach.

Arthur let go of Merlin’s hands, the better to prop himself up as he jerked them faster, and Merlin took the chance to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a kiss.

The kiss was messy, sloppy – teeth and lips and tongues blurring together without any skill or care – but it felt just _wonderful_ , like the tightening knot in his groin that threatened to snap at any moment.

And Merlin knew this was right. Knew that this was how it was supposed to be. His whole body was bursting with joy under Arthur’s, and every touch and look made his heart skip and the strange feeling that must be love turn his world inside out. They were _meant_ to be here, more surely than it was destiny. It was just… _right_ : it was what they both wanted, it was what they both deserved. 

The coil of unicorn mane around his wrist thrilled with power, the promise of so many nights ago coming true. 

Arthur pulled back from the kiss and Merlin let him, keeping his hands on Arthur’s face, wanting to show somehow how he felt with his hands and eyes alone.

“Merlin…”

It was a question. Merlin didn’t know what the question was, but he knew the answer.

“Yes.”

Arthur smiled. It was a small smile, but it went deep inside and all the way to his eyes. Merlin could even feel it in the hands holding him.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, but Merlin knew it meant ‘I love you’, even if he couldn’t say it aloud. Merlin knew.

And then it was all he _did_ know, as Arthur gripped his cock harder and pushed into the fist, crying out in pleasure as his climax tore through him. Merlin could feel every last muscle of Arthur’s body tense, could see how he let go of everything in that moment of pure emotion and sensation. Arthur’s hips jerked sharply, even though his hand didn’t move any more, and Merlin could feel how his cock juddered and spasmed as it pumped sticky, warm ejaculate over Merlin’s stomach.

Merlin held on as long as he could. He wanted to be able to remember feeling this moment: feeling Arthur lose control. But he could only wait for a handful of heartbeats before the look on Arthur’s face and the quiet little sound that could almost have been Merlin’s name was too much, and he, too, was coming.

Merlin strangled back the cry he wanted to make, so it came out a garbled confusion of syllables and vowels that mirrored how he felt inside. Nothing mattered but Arthur’s hand, and Arthur’s cock against his own. Nothing but the warm, comforting presence and the weight of him and the feel of his own seed mingling with Arthur’s. 

Eventually, awareness slowly seeped back into Merlin and he realised he didn’t know how long they had been lying there, tangled in one another. 

Arthur had rolled them onto their sides, somehow, and their legs were wound so tightly he couldn’t immediately work out where one ended and the other began. Merlin had one arm pillowing Arthur’s head, the other sprawled over his hip. Arthur had one hand pressed into Merlin’s chest, the other idly stroking the warlock’s leg.

When Arthur didn’t choose to say anything, Merlin took the chance to just… relax. It was nice to lie here with someone who loved him touching him gently, the mingled seed of their lovemaking a glue binding them together. It was powerful, Merlin could sense. This bond. This proof of their bond. He would have to be careful no one found any evidence of it, in case they tried to use it against them.

“What are you thinking?” Arthur asked, his voice mellowed and gentle: not the sharp, firm leader’s voice he normally used. Merlin realised this was part of what that persona covered up from prying eyes.

“How I hope we get to do that again. Lots.”

Arthur smiled. It was that softer smile again, another part of Arthur that he kept hidden most of the time. 

“I think that goes without saying.”

Merlin wriggled in closer. Breathed deeply, just… feeling how they locked together so perfectly. Two halves indeed.

“Arthur. I… have something to tell you.” He couldn’t hate him, could he? Not… not after everything they’d done. Not after… this?

Merlin couldn’t help but worry that Arthur would think he’d waited on purpose. He hadn’t. He’d… tried to tell him.

“Merlin. You can tell me, you know.”

“I know magic.”

He didn’t want to ruin this moment. Didn’t want to spoil the afterglow of their first night together. Didn’t want to look like he was using it as an excuse. But he didn’t want to hold the secret inside any longer.

“Oh.”

Oh? That… well. It could have been worse, Merlin expected. And it was probably best if Arthur… thought about it.

“I tried to tell you and… Arthur I don’t do it for bad reasons, I only do it to help people. And sometimes I don’t even try, it just sort of… happens. But only to help people, I promise.”

“Merlin… Merlin how am I supposed to react to that?” Arthur asked, a note of tension creeping into his voice.

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted.

Arthur sighed. “Okay. How about this: I don’t react to it at all, right now, and instead you can convince me in the morning that this is a good idea?”

Well. He wasn’t thrown out of bed, and… Arthur was going to let him make his case?

Merlin nodded. “Thank you, Sire.”

“Stop that. I’m Arthur here. And… look. In the morning we’ll work something out.”

Merlin nodded again. 

“Just… promise me you didn’t put something in my wine to get me here?”

Merlin was shocked. “What? No! Arthur I wouldn’t…!”

Arthur laughed and ruffled Merlin’s hair. “I know. I know you wouldn’t. I said I trusted you – you, Kay and Oswald – for a reason. And if… if you happen to have those kinds of talents… we’ll find some way to cope. We always do.”

Like coping with unexpected love, Merlin supposed.

“Would you… even if we hadn’t done this?” Merlin asked, a little… concerned.

“For you? Yes. Although I’d probably have got angry first and thrown things.” Arthur met his eyes. “Yes. I trust you with my life, and the life of my people. And I trust you would never abuse that.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Then can we – for God’s sake – just enjoy the rest of the evening and worry about it in the morning?”

Merlin blushed. “Yes.”

“Good. Kay made a few suggestions that I couldn’t really ignore, and I want to try them out…”

“And you trust him in _that_?” Merlin asked.

“He was right about you, after all.”

“I don’t want to know, do I?”

Arthur leaned to kiss his cheek. “Well. It got us here, didn’t it?”

“I suppose I should thank him, then,” Merlin groaned. The thought was not appealing.

“Or you could just kiss me some more. He’ll be pleased enough his Lord is happy… and you never need to say a thing to him.”

That was better. “Kissing I can certainly manage. Especially with you.”

“Shut up and let me then.”

Merlin was only too happy to oblige.


End file.
